Eligible Marchioness
by Aneriangel
Summary: B/V the way it should be. Does the strange title speak for itself? Of course not. This is my initiation and written for all of us who read more B/V's than we'd care to admit. I'm in this one for long run, folks! R&R please!
1. As Always, The Beginning

A/N: This is my first story on this site. I have been a member for a very long time however, and I feel like I have to go through an initiation. Therefore, I am writing a B/V fic. It seems like a prerequisite, so... here it is! I update very frequently and make chapters long. Not because I want to get reviews (I do!), but because I get carried away. Like now. R&R please!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own DBZ as of now. But I am currently negotiating a contract with some guy who knows a guy who has a cousin who watches the show. I expect good things.

* * *

**Chapter 1: As Always, The Beginning**

That stupid, bullying, arrogant, prick!

Bulma pulled an orange tank top over her head, her anger causing her head to get stuck several times in an armhole. By the time she had laced up her work boots and buckled her belt, she was so mad she couldn't see straight.

Her walkie-talkie crackled from its place on her bed and her father's voice fizzled in saying, "Honey? Let's not keep him waiting. He's growing impatient!"

Bulma seized the walkie-talkie and bared her teeth. "I'm coming dad! So you can tell that undersized _thing_ out there to _hold his horses!_"

She proceeded to fling the device at her bedroom wall and her father's response was left on deaf ears. Bulma could not really blame her father for devoting his spare time and energy to their new houseguest. After all, her father was getting older and he was no match physically.

Neither was Bulma, but that never stopped her.

"It's about time you lazy, insufferable woman!" greeted her housemate, the Saiyan prince Vegeta, once she had stepped outside.

With narrowed blue eyes Bulma stopped to look in his direction. He stood next to the Gravity Room in tight blue training shorts, bare-chested with, for _Kami's sake_, white gloves on.

"You've got some nerve Vegeta!" she replied bitingly, blowing fallen teal hair from her eyes. She was furious now and wanted him to see every bit of her. "This gravity room is perfectly fine! Why in the world do you want to go and have us redo it for?"

Vegeta raised a solitary eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "That is none of your concern, nosy earthling. Join your father and do as I ask!"

As Bulma prepared herself for a leap of death (because that's what it would be if she actually dared to jump on the prince, who was short, but certainly superior in strength), her father leapt in the way.

"Dear! No! Come and see what I've done so far."

Her father's blue eyes were wide beneath his glasses and Bulma decided that for his sake she would not attempt suicide. Instead she followed her dad to the GR's open control panel and looked inside.

"I've adjusted the controls so that the levels can be increased at a faster pace," he announced grandly, his white lab coat sparkling in the bright sunlight. "Why, now he can train up to 300g's!"

Bulma placed her hands on her hips. "This _is_ nice dad," she commented, "but these walls aren't going to sustain so much gravitational pull. We're going to have to rebuild them."

"I thought as much," he said with a sigh, stroking his bushy moustache. "Adding more insulation, more steel and wiring… it's going to be a big job dear. Are you up for it?"

Bulma smiled at his inquiry. As heir to Capsule Corporation one day, she was up for anything that would increase her scientific knowledge- and she had a lot of it. "Of course dad."

"That's my girl," Dr. Briefs said proudly. "I'll go in and get my toolkit and a few of our best workers."

Bulma waited until her father had disappeared into the Capsule Corp. mansion before rounding the GR corner. Vegeta was still standing there and it was quite obvious that he had been listening to their conversation.

"Happy now?" she asked haughtily.

"You're still here aren't you?" he asked with a smirk. "So, no."

Bulma poked a finger at his chest and he stumbled back, probably surprised some weak _earthling_ woman had the audacity to touch him. "The least you could do is say thank-you! After all, I don't _have _to do this!"

Vegeta grabbed her wrist and squeezed it in his gloved hand. "_Thank-you_?" he spat out. "Maybe you'd rather I didn't train so that those damned Androids can blast you and your pathetic family to bits!"

"Oh yeah?" Bulma shot back. "I think Goku will do just _fine_ without _your_ help!"

Vegeta laughed in such a way that Bulma became instantly infuriated once more. She tried to yank away from him but his grip was like stone. Using her free hand, Bulma hit his arm over and over and over.

"Drop her Vegeta!"

Hearing Yamcha's voice lifted Bulma's spirits. She instantly stopped attacking Vegeta and turned towards her boyfriend, a scarred ex-bandit with beautiful long black hair. Vegeta, who had voiced his dislike of Yamcha at least once a day since he had arrived, did not stop holding Bulma's wrist at the other man's command.

Instead he pulled Bulma closer to him and snarled, "Make me."

Bulma rolled her eyes when Yamcha hesitated. Of course she understood her boyfriend's reluctance to cross Vegeta, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let Vegeta treat her like his personal servant. He was going to have to learn how things were settled here on the planet Earth.

She bit down hard on his gloved hand, tasting dirt and leather. So surprised by her action was he, Vegeta actually released her from his grasp and stumbled backwards.

Yamcha grabbed her, shaking her shoulders anxiously. "Bulma! What's the matter with you? That guy's a psycho!"

Bulma could not respond. She was too busy watching Vegeta's reaction, which had turned from surprise to complete disgust. His face was scrunched and his hand had been taken out of his glove so that he could inspect it further.

"Oh! Yamcha! Hello there boy!"

Dr. Briefs was approaching with five other men in dark blue Capsule Corp. uniforms. They were all carrying giant tubs of metal and tools.

"Hey there Doc," Yamcha greeted her father. "Well Bulma, looks like you're busy, so I'll be heading off okay?"

He kissed her cheek and leaned into her ear. "You call me if he starts any trouble, alright?"

* * *

That blasted woman and her teeth!

Vegeta was lying on his side in bed. It was so dark that he could only see the flickering of stars through the window. Yet he could see the woman's germs crawling across his skin like tiny infected microbes.

There was a knock at his door and before he could respond that he was going to kill whoever was disturbing him, the very witch he had been so fondly reflecting upon entered his room.

"Vegeta," she whispered. "Vegeta are you awake?"

Vegeta gave the blue haired woman a once over and then growled. "Get out."

He didn't expect her to comply. If there was one thing the prince had learned about her, it was that she was hard of hearing.

She closed the door behind her.

"Gee, it's uh… a little dark in here. Mind if I turn on a light?"

Vegeta sat up in bed as his overhead light was flicked on. Near the door stood Bulma in red pajamas, her finger on the light switch. Her hair was pulled up under a scarf printed with pink smiley faces. They were the only faces smiling in that room.

"Look woman," he said, squinting under the harsh light, "I'm only going to ask you one more time to leave before I throw you out of my window!"

Bulma paid him no attention and turned up her nose. "Jeez Vegeta, don't you ever clean your room? And what about a bath? Whew!"

"That is the scent of a warrior!" he said with a smirk, glad he had made her visit slightly uncomfortable.

She rolled her eyes at him and then sat on the edge of his bed.

"Get off of that!" he demanded, quickly on his feet. "And just what do you want anyway woman? Come to bite another hand?"

Bulma looked at the floor and then back at him. "No… in fact, that's sort of why I'm up here."

Vegeta leaned against the wall across from the bed, his arms crossed. He arched one eyebrow.

"I shouldn't have bit you," Bulma said, sounding pained. "It was a really stupid thing to do. I'm sorry Vegeta."

He hadn't expected to hear an apology. "And here I thought you were completely incompetent." He smirked. "There's still room for improvement I see."

He liked this, making her angry. She was just about the only earthling who would succumb to his provoking nature.

Bulma's nostrils flared and she stood quickly from the bed. "Don't you think you owe me an apology? After all you nearly ripped off my wrist today!"

"I owe no one anything!" Vegeta stated firmly.

"And then you stomp around here ordering me around like I'm some kind of slave girl or something! How about treating me with a little more respect _Vegeta_."

And when she said his name he froze, because he had never heard anyone say his name quite like that before.

"Wow! Speechless, huh?" the woman asked with a knowing smirk. She put her hands on her hips and closed her eyes in glee. "That's a first."

His left eye was twitching.

"Those words may be your last," he said threateningly.

"You can't kill me," Bulma said. "Goku would…"

"_Kakarrot_ is not my concern," Vegeta said coldly, standing close to her and whispering. "And while you tempt death, he's asleep in his bed."

And-blast her!- he _still_ could not sense her fear, her intimidation; only that she had as much pride as he, and that she would not ever back down without a large, unnecessary fight.

"You won't hurt me," she told him matter-of-factly. She flicked his nose with her finger and left his room, turning off the lights and closing the door behind her.

Vegeta stood there in the darkness, pondering her words.

She was right.


	2. The Slip Up

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my first five reviewers! I must say though, I feel muscled into this one!

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Dragonball Z. But I do own a Vegeta walkie-talkie. This is just as good.

* * *

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

It was only two in the afternoon, but Bulma was tired already. Her arms ached from hammering and her feet from standing. She was very happy to see her mother approaching with a plastic tray in her arms.

"I bought the two of you some lemonade!" her mother called from across the patio, setting the tray on one of the Brief's long wooden picnic tables. "It's awfully hot out here today, isn't it?"

Her mother was right, but Bulma, who wanted nothing more than to take a break, decided against it. This gravity room wasn't going to rebuild itself.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! _

"I've never seen you work so hard!" commented her father as he joined her on the other side.

"I've never had so much motivation," Bulma replied cheerfully, swinging her arm back to hit another nail and then releasing it to hear one more satisfying _bang_.

She then showed the instrument to her father.

"You see dad… _this_ is the hammer."

Her father raised a brow.

Bulma reached down and scooped up a handful of nails from the box near her feet. She delicately placed one onto the wood.

"And _this_… is Vegeta's face!"

And she pounded at the wood with such furious intent that her father actually leapt out of her way, stumbling.

"Take this!" she was shouting. "And this! And this! And this and this and this and this!"

Her arms gave out after a time and Bulma stepped backwards, panting as she tried to catch her breath.

"Dear, why don't you go and take a nap?" suggested her father after a few moments silence.

Bulma suddenly regained her composure. She placed both hands on her hips. "No way, dad. I said I'd help and that's what I'm going to do!"

Her father glanced at her mother, who shrugged in response. He then gently grabbed her shoulder.

"I think it's in your best interest to… well, sleep off whatever this is."

"And take some medication sweetheart," her mother said concernedly, leading Bulma into the patio and through the backdoor.

Knowing that her psychotic episode had lost her the opportunity to finish her work, Bulma gave in. Besides, it would be nice to be able to relax for once.

Her legs dragging, she climbed up the flight of steps leading to the second-floor bathroom. She pulled open the door and undressed immediately, placing her smelly clothes into a pile near the door.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Bulma screamed from surprise and tried to cover herself. Unfortunately, all she managed to do was slip and fall backwards into the tiled shower. Fuzzy dots appeared in front of her eyes.

"I'm attempting to shower!" Vegeta declared angrily, standing in front of the tub where she lay completely exposed.

Bulma whipped the curtain around her, breathing heavily.

"Y-you jerk!" she stammered, trying to stand and failing. "You could have told me that before I got undressed!"

"Then what would be in it for me?" he asked in a way that let the fallen woman know he was amused.

Bulma let out a growl and finally got to her feet, her back throbbing in pain. "Some prince you are! Lounging around here for cheap thrills!"

She groaned and placed both hands on her back, trying to still the pain.

"The least you could do is toss me a _towel_," Bulma said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"And why would I do that?" Vegeta asked her through the curtain.

Bulma prepared to throw back the curtain when she realized that her hands were becoming very warm. Looking down, she let out a shriek.

* * *

"What is it _now_?" Vegeta asked with a hint of impatience. He was less than warm in just his training shorts.

The blue-haired demon he shared living space with did not respond.

Vegeta growled, leaning against the sink. "This isn't funny woman. What is it?"

There was movement on the other side of the curtain. "I-I'm bleeding," Bulma said, her voice echoing from the tub. "I think I cut myself when I fell."

There was hesitation in her voice as she continued. "Vegeta?"

He grunted.

"Could you lift me to my bed?"

Vegeta snorted. "I will do no such thing, woman."

Bulma sniffed. "_Vegeta_," she whined. "_Please!_ I can't walk!"

The Saiyan prince considered simply walking out of the bathroom and leaving her there to waste away in the bathtub.

"No."

"I won't shut-up until you do this for me," she said with a tone Vegeta did not like. "You know I won't."

Regrettably he did. The two of them had had exchanges like this before.

"Fine," Vegeta said gruffly. "But on my terms."

The voice inside of the shower sighed. "And what terms are those?

"Firstly, cover yourself. You're disgusting."

"HEY!"

"Secondly," Vegeta continued as though she had not spoken, "you are not to mention this to anyone. Not to Kakarrot, not to his harpy, and certainly not to _him_."

"Kami, Vegeta," Bulma wailed, pounding the floor with her fists. "I'm _dying_ and all you care about is yourself! Get me out of here!"

"Thirdly," Vegeta said, feeling his lips pull into a smirk. "You will refer to me as _Prince_ Vegeta whilst I am carrying you. Is that understood?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Vegeta growled and Bulma exhaled deeply.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me, Prince Vegeta," the woman rephrased edgily.

Vegeta grabbed a towel and tossed it to her. "That will suffice."

* * *

"This is barbaric," Bulma said, grimacing when Vegeta tossed her over his shoulder.

His hand, which had been placed on the "open door" switch, froze.

"Prince _Vegeta_," she said through clenched teeth, and his hand began to work again. "This is barbaric!"

"Shut-up."

Bulma did not like being manhandled, nor did she like being told to _shut-up_. But because she wanted to get to her room without an argument, she decided to do as she was told.

By the time he had reached her room, Bulma had actually found a comfortable spot on Vegeta's back on which to rest her head.

"Don't touch me," he shot at her, kicking her door open and dropping her carelessly onto her bed.

Bulma settled back in her fuzzy pink comforters. "You could have done that nicely," she charged at him, wincing when her back gave another throb.

"It could have been worse," he said to her, glancing around her room. He looked sour. "Where do you keep your bandages?"

Bulma smiled at him and sat up. "Was that _concern_?"

"Not on your life, woman."

She rolled her eyes. "Could you at least hand them to me so I don't have to get up?"

Vegeta glared at her. "And then you'll shut-up."

Bulma was beginning to wish she had never promised to do so. "YES, Vegeta."

He gave her a suspicious once over as if he were some sort of lie-detector. She must have passed his inspection because he narrowed his eyes. "Where are they?"

"In that drawer over there,"she answered, trying to hide her smile when he complied.

He found the gauze and gave it to her with another once over. Then he turned to leave.

Vegeta was halfway out the door when she called his name. Bulma watched as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Clearly she was trying his patience.

"Thanks," she whispered.


	3. Insidiously Guided

A/N: So, I've actually got some sort of plot going on for this story now. Or maybe not. Who knows anymore. Enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER**: I own this disclaimer.  


* * *

The two of them were sitting in the backyard of Capsule Corp., under the shade of a looming willow. Overhead the sun was high in the sky, so hot that Bulma felt sleepy.

"This is nice," Yamcha was telling her. "Just the two of us…. We don't do this as much as we should."

Bulma smiled and leaned against Yamcha, taking in the scent of his brand new cologne. "I'm sorry I've been so busy," she said. "Vegeta has my dad and I working on some-"

"Vegeta?" Yamcha interrupted her. He didn't look happy at the mention of the Saiyan's name. "I'd rather not hear about him right now, Bulma."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Lay off him. He was actually nice to me the other day. I think he's coming around."

Her boyfriend made an angry noise in his throat. "_Right_. Bulma, I don't like you hanging around that guy. It's bad enough that you have to live with him."

Bulma wondered if she should press the issue. Yamcha always became sensitive upon hearing Vegeta's name mentioned. Because she believed it to be a product of too much testosterone, Bulma never took his ramblings too seriously. Besides, Yamcha was no saint.

"I can't believe you break your back trying to please him," continued Yamcha, resting his chin on her puffy, blue hair and sighing.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about him," she teased, knowing that despite his denial, Yamcha was actually very curious about Vegeta.

"I _don't_," Yamcha said with a pout, crossing his arms and looking very put out.

Bulma sighed. "Fine. Let's talk about something else."

But what exactly were they supposed to talk about? They had been together so long that Bulma was sure they had touched on just about every topic. Furthermore, she wasn't so sure she really wanted to talk anyway.

She lifted his shirt collar in her fingers affectionately and tilted his chin so that she could kiss him.

Yamcha smiled at her and gave her a look that always made her melt. He was adorable, he was here, and most importantly, he was hers.

"I love you Bulma," he said in her ear, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ears.

Bulma settled back in his arms and closed her eyes. "I love you too."

They managed to sit like that, in comfortable silence, for approximately three and a half minutes.

"Hey guys!"

Bulma's eyes fluttered open. In front of her stood Goku in a bright orange gi. He was grinning.

"Hey Goku," Bulma answered him, brushing dirt off her knees and standing up. "What are you doing around here? I haven't seen you in forever!"

The tall Saiyan smiled. "I know! I've been training an awful lot with Gohan and everything, so-"

"So you couldn't even come see your best friend?" Bulma demanded to know, her hands on her hips with legs spread apart. "I've been worried sick about you, Goku!"

That wasn't necessarily true. Goku was perfectly capable of watching after himself. Besides, Bulma had been so busy helping her father rebuild the GR that she had barely had time to worry about herself.

Goku put a hand behind his head and laughed nervously. "Well, uh…"

"And I bet you're not even here to see me," she scolded him, narrowing her eyes. When Goku didn't answer, she knew she was right. Sighing, she pointed to her right. "He's back there Goku. But he's using the Gravity Room right now and he'll probably yell at you for interrupting…"

"Dead man walking," Yamcha muttered when Goku paid her no attention and started walking towards the backyard anyway.

Bulma crossed her arms. "It'll be interesting to say the least."

* * *

A mere moment after Goku had left, Yamcha discovered that Bulma was right about many things. One of them being that Vegeta did _not_ like being interrupted.

"Come on Yamcha," Bulma said to him, taking his arm and dragging him to where Goku and Vegeta were facing off.

Yamcha permitted himself to be dragged along but, truth be told, he wasn't that interested in stepping between two Saiyans.

"Shouldn't we see where this goes first?" he asked her as she gave his arm another painful tug.

She did not answer him, just glared.

"Okay…"

Once they had arrived, Yamcha freed his arm from his girlfriend's tight grasp and shook it to allow for free blood flow once more.

"What _are_ you?" he asked her, "A ninja?"

She either ignored him, or couldn't hear. The arguing between Goku and Vegeta had gotten almost ear splitting.

"But Vegeta! I'm _bored_!" Goku was saying. "Gohan and Piccolo are training one on one and Krillin isn't really a match for me!"

"Then train alone Kakarrot!" sneered Vegeta, his fists clenched. "I'm not some guinea pig for you to run to when all your friends have gone!"

Goku looked crushed. "I understand, Vegeta. If you aren't up to it…."

The look on Vegeta's face could have murdered. "_What_ did you just say?"

Yamcha wasn't fooled by the innocent look on his friend's face. Goku was naïve at times, but certainly no idiot.

Goku, standing just a few feet from Vegeta, leaned against the Gravity Room door and shrugged. "I said that if you aren't up to it…."

Vegeta was livid, if his red face and shaking limbs were of any indication of that. "I know what you said, you _moron_! I will not be goaded into a premature fight with you!"

"And just why not?"

Yamcha stared at Bulma, who had just spoken, in disbelief. "Can't you stay out of something for five _minutes_?" he asked as he grabbed her hand.

Pulling away, she didn't answer him and this time Yamcha knew that she was ignoring him. There was complete silence now.

"Yeah Vegeta," she said with a smirk, "are you _scared_?"

The aforementioned Saiyan clenched his jaw.

"Uh, Bulma…" Goku started, but he too was cut off with a glare.

"You know… I completely understand why you would be," she said, waving her hand in the air and turning around. "Goku's the strongest man in the whole world! Why, I bet he's the strongest in the universe!"

Vegeta's eyes had widened and his nails were digging into his palms. "_Woman_," he growled almost inaudibly.

"_Vegeta_," Bulma countered, walking right up to him so that she was between Goku and the prince.

"Kakarrot will not always be here to save you from your big mouth you obnoxious cow," said Vegeta with thin lips, a large vein popping up over his left brow.

"I am not a _cow_!" Bulma said in surprise. "And don't change the subject Vegeta!"

Yamcha thought Bulma was overstepping her boundaries. And apparently, so had Goku, who gently grabbed her shoulder.

"That's enough, Bulma," Goku whispered to her.

Bulma 'hmphed'. "I'm only trying to help. If Vegeta's so content to train alone, who knows how he'll do with a real opponent."

And before Vegeta could get out his typical 'That doesn't concern you' rant, Bulma had cut in.

"And don't tell me that it doesn't concern me, because it does!" She poked his chest and Yamcha winced. "Goku can't do this alone! Without your help we're pretty much screwed!"

All three men in the yard dropped their jaws. Yamcha stepped backwards to examine Bulma more closely. Had she actually implied that Vegeta's participation in the upcoming battle against the Androids would matter? And had she just _poked_ him?

For a moment no one spoke, just stared at Bulma and Vegeta, who were glaring decidedly at one another.

"Well?" she finally asked, squinting.

Vegeta pushed past her, sneering. "I take orders from no one."

He turned from them all and began walking back to the compound.

"Well, I guess that's the end of that," said Yamcha, his heart pounding in his chest. "Nice job, Bulma."

She was staring at Vegeta's retreating form.

"He'll come around," Goku said kindly, giving her a pat on the back. "He just needs some time."

"And space," Yamcha chimed in. "I don't think you should be alone with him right now. You pissed him off." He didn't add 'as usual' because he did not need to.

Bulma seemed to know already. She folded her arms. "He's an ass."

"You weren't exactly laying on the charm there," reminded Yamcha. "But you were right!" he stated when Bulma turned red with anger.

"You know what?" she said with a sly smile. "I think he _will _come around. And when he does, you'll have me to thank for it."


	4. Of A Beautiful Friendship

A/N: I really appreciate all the feedback everyone! Seriously, I'm grateful for the opportunity to be critiqued by some serious B/V fans. Now, about these chapters of mine. I don't think they're ridiculously short, but they aren't long enough for my satisfaction. For that reason, if the storyline permits it, there will be nice, long chapters ahead full of B/V action. I'm such a sucker for these two. PLEASE R&R!

**DISCLAIMER**: I pwn Dragonball Z.

* * *

Vegeta tilted his head back in the shower and let the hot droplets of water cascade down his face and chest. He had a horrible headache and wanted nothing more than to lay down. The steam in the shower was somewhat calming though.

If he were completely honest with himself, he supposed that the reason he even _had_ a headache was due to that loud woman and what she had said to him earlier that afternoon. Was it true? Was he delaying his inevitable surge to greatness by training reclusively?

It was something to think about, of that he was certain. Perhaps he _ought_ to train with Kakarrot, or at least with someone who would give him the sort of fight his Saiyan blood had been itching for ever since his blasted arrival on Earth.

Vegeta curled his upper lip and growled, grabbing the thick yellow soap from the soap dish and squishing it between his fingers. He couldn't fight Kakarrot. Not yet.

He wasn't ready.

The thought alone was torturing him, churning his stomach. He was the Prince of all Saiyans! _He_ was the chosen one! Not Kakarrot! Not some idiot third-class!

He turned off the water and let the silence wash over him. He refused to let this anger consume him as so much of his anger usually did.

His head gave a nasty throb and he stepped out of the shower and flared his ki to dry off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The woman's mother was there with a giant grin on her face.

"You missed dinner tonight dear! I saved you a few plates downstairs in the kitchen!"

Grunting, Vegeta began to make his way into his room so that he could change into his customary sweats. Seconds later, he sensed that the silly woman was still behind him and he turned around with a glare.

"What is it?" he asked gruffly.

She widened her eyes at his tone. "It's not healthy for a growing boy like yourself to skip dinner so often! You really should eat Vegeta!"

Vegeta placed a hand on the doorknob and opened his room door. "Bring it to me," he ordered, shutting the door in her face.

He listened to her skip down the hallway and trod down the steps.

"No one's normal around here," he muttered, dropping his towel.

* * *

Bulma had been reading for hours. Curled up on the world's most comfortable sofa in the world's most delightful den, she was oblivious to the world around her. Her father's black cat, aptly named _Kitty,_ was lying on her stomach, its tail twitching whenever the young heiress flipped a page.

"This is nice, isn't it Kitty?" Bulma asked the feline, gently stroking her ears. She sighed and leaned back on a fluffy green pillow. "We could lay here forever."

"_Mrow_," purred Kitty, arching her back and gently digging her claws into Bulma's nightgown. She settled back down again and closed her eyes.

Bulma placed the magazine she had been reading over her own eyes and stretched out her toes. It had been a very relaxing day. There had been no papers to fill out, no Gravity Room to rebuild, no complaints from any assholes she knew.

"This is life as it should be," she said aloud to Kitty, who acknowledged her with a flick of her tail. "I've kept myself sparse you know. I didn't bother Vegeta all day."

Kitty didn't answer.

"Yup," Bulma said with a winning smile, "He owes me big."

Pulling the magazine off of her face, Bulma sat up. Kitty, whose resting place had been disturbed, leapt off of the young woman's stomach and onto her head instead.

"No! Get down from there!" Bulma shouted. Her hair was poofy and she could hardly get a comb through it, much less a scraggly cat!

"Honey?"

Bulma turned from her franticness and to her mother, who was leaning against the doorway to the den in a bright green apron and oven mitts.

"I went upstairs to see if Vegeta would eat something. I don't think he will."

Bulma flinched when Kitty's claws pulled at her hair. "And? H-He's old enough to take care of himself mother."

Her mom winked at her. "I think it would be nice if someone would take his food up for him. He's very tired you know…."

"And just…ow! And just _who_ would that someone be?" Bulma asked, knowing exactly what her mother meant.

Bunny shrugged and looked up at the ceiling with a grin on her face. "Oh, no one I guess. Just someone warm and sensitive to his needs."

There was quiet for two seconds.

"I think you should do it!"

"No way," Bulma said, standing from the couch and grabbing onto Kitty, whose claws had managed to tangle her hair together. "I haven't seen him all day. Why do you think I'm so happy? Besides, there's probably a good reason why he hasn't eaten."

She couldn't think of one, but she hoped she was right. The last thing Bulma wanted to do was leave the warm sofa and enter Vegeta's bedroom of doom.

Her mother looked downcast. "I guess _I_ could always do it," she said sadly. "Though I'm getting old and I'm not able to walk the steps like I used to."

That was false.

"Fine mom, I'll do it," Bulma said, rolling her eyes at her mother's see-through plot.

Her mother clapped her hands together and grinned wider. "Such a nice young girl, Bulma!"

"Baited is more like it," the blue-haired woman mumbled.

"Oh and Bulma?"

"_Yes_ mom?"

Bunny smiled innocently. "There's a cat on your head."

* * *

Bulma grabbed the large tubs of spaghetti that her mother had placed in the fridge and thumped them down on the counter. Cooking for Vegeta was no easy task. Not that she would know. Bulma had no aptitude for cooking. She wasn't even allowed near the toaster.

"Fork… bowl…"

Bulma picked the tubs up in her hand and the bowl and fork for Vegeta, and then began making her way to the steps. It was at this moment that she experienced a pang of brilliance.

Within moments she had grabbed another bowl and utensil and was climbing the stairs, a skip in her step. By the time she had reached the prince's lair, she was actually smiling.

Because her hands were full of food and dishes, Bulma kicked at Vegeta's door with her foot. When there was no response from inside, she kicked at it again, this time much harder and with a less happy intent.

"Open the door, Vegeta!" she demanded, the tubs becoming heavier in her arms. "I'm going to drop all of this food!"

The door cracked open to reveal Vegeta standing in front of her in dark colored sweats. He gave Bulma a once over.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked, trying to keep a smile plastered on her face. It was getting harder to do.

"Does it matter if I _invite_ you in?" he asked as he opened his door further. "You'll let yourself in anyway."

Bulma pushed past him and walked inside, flicking the light on with her elbow. "Yeah well, I'm impressed to say the least. Most men don't figure that out until the second date. Maybe there _are_ brains in that thick skull of yours!"

And there went her attempt to be nice.

_Come on Bulma! You can do this!_

Bulma set the food down carefully on an end table and looked around the room. It was very different than before. Vegeta had obviously cleaned up. Even the smell had changed.

"A woman can actually _breathe_ in here," Bulma said, stepping towards his window and looking out into the night.

The Saiyan folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "That's unfortunate," he said. "Now get out."

"No," Bulma said simply, turning to face him and leaning against the window. "I'm going to join you for dinner."

She took glee in the shade of red his face turned.

"It's going to be nice Vegeta," she said as though she were his mother, convincing him to do something he detested. "It's spaghetti." She began to set out the bowls.

"Woman," said Vegeta with narrowed eyes. "I won't say this again. _Get_ out."

Bulma turned around and blinked her eyes. "You can't make me."

Vegeta's dark eyes did not betray his emotion, but Bulma knew she was making him angry. His eyes were almost slits when he spoke to her.

"Is that so?"

He was nearing her, coming much too close for comfort. And then his eyes widened and he pointed behind her in outrage.

"What are you putting on my food?" he spat at her.

Bulma faced in the direction he was pointing. Exasperated, she grabbed the green and white plastic container and showed it to him.

"This is Parmesan cheese, Vegeta," Bulma explained. Rolling her eyes she sprinkled some into her own bowl as proof. "Sheesh! Not everyone is trying to poison you!"

"My life is valuable, much unlike your own," Vegeta said once she had given him his bowl and fork. "Those that fear me would have me dead in an instant."

"Ever stop to think that it's because you're a jerk?"

And even though Vegeta looked murderous, it had been worth it.

"Okay, okay," Bulma recanted, throwing up her hands as a show of peace. She grinned. "You know what? I bet on your home planet I would have been a comedian."

Vegeta growled. "On my home planet you would have been executed."

"I doubt that," said Bulma, sitting down on the floor and taking a bite of a warmed meatball. "I'm useful."

"For headaches," Vegeta said to her, making a face as he joined her on the floor. "Nothing more."

Bulma became defensive, as she always did whenever her intelligence was discredited. "Hey! In case you've forgotten, I not only helped design that gravity room you've sold your soul too, I helped _build_ it too!"

"Relax woman," Vegeta said, eyeing her with a smirk. "I am not implying that you are unintelligent."

This answer satisfied Bulma. "So, what _were_ you implying then?"

His smirk became more pronounced. "Only that had you been born a Saiyan, there would have been other uses for you. None of them pertaining to science."

Bulma creased her forehead, letting his words sink in. And when they did, she was none too pleased about it.

"You're disgusting," she responded, not particularly enjoying his sudden amusement. "If that's how women were treated on your planet, then I'm glad I was born here on Earth."

Vegeta raised a brow. "You give yourself too much credit," he told her. "Earthlings have created non-existent distinctions between men and women that have left this planet light-years away from exceptional power."

"I never believed you to be so into women's lib," Bulma said with a slight smile, forgetting that just seconds before, she had been angry with him.

Vegeta gave her a curious look. "What are you talking about?" he asked her.

Bulma placed her bowl down on the ground and returned his look. "You mean about women's lib?"

He grunted.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Bulma responded, "It's lengthy Vegeta. I'd have to go into great detail just to describe it all-"

"Then forget it," he cut in.

Bulma was quiet for a moment, watching Vegeta eat his food. "You know… whether you like it or not, we are _going_ to be friends."

Vegeta nearly choked on his food.


	5. Day Damned One

A/N: So, without any reference to the awful, horrid, terrible week that I suffered through, I would like to take a moment to respond to some of the reviews I received.

xxxxcrazychickxxxx: Your comment seriously made my day. And I had seven bad ones. Days, I mean.  
madhatter45: I completely understand. Bulma's character is a bit childish at first though, so while I love the idea of writing her more "mature", I like the idea of her sort of expanding into this role. This may end up being a "coming" of age story for her.  
Chronic Reviewers: I can't name everyone, but thanks for coming back time and time again to review. I hope I keep you guys entertained!

**DISCLAIMER**: There's no way to tell if I'm Akira. So... yes. I do in fact OWN Dragonball Z. I am its original creator.

* * *

Bulma was awakened by a loud thumping noise. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that it had something to do with Vegeta. Most of her problems seemed to have something to do with him.

Not entirely in a good mood, Bulma yawned and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The thumping noise continued.

She pulled a robe over her nightgown, cast her feet into slippers shaped like ducks, and swung her door open

"Oh! Hi honey! Did I wake you?"

Bulma stared at her mother, her vision still blurry from sleep. "What are you doing with all those suitcases?"

Her mother was holding three suitcases in her arms. Two more were in front of her. She had plainly been kicking them across the floor, thus, creating the thumping noise.

"Your father just got invited to a special convention for scientists! He's getting an award and everything!"

"Wow. That's great! When does he leave?"

"This afternoon. The convention lasts for a week!"

Bulma blinked. "A week?"

Her mother nodded. "That's right Bulma! And I'm going to go with him!"

Her first instinct was to shout 'No!' and throw a tantrum, as she had done as a child. Luckily she had learned long ago not to trust her instincts. Instead Bulma swallowed, somehow managing to keep her mouth shut. A hard feat for her, no doubt.

"Let me help you with those suitcases mom," she offered, shutting her bedroom door and grabbing two of the giant cases. "Where are we going with these?"

"Our room," her mother answered. "Your father and I have tons of stuff to pack!"

Not wanting to damper her mother's cheery mood, Bulma worded her next sentence very carefully.

"Mother," she began, "Just who is going to be taking care of Vegeta while the two of you are at this convention?"

Bunny walked down the hall cheerfully, humming. "Oh, Bulma!" she exclaimed. "Don't be silly! _You'll_ be here!"

She gripped the suitcase handles tighter in her hands, more determined than ever to keep her cool. She took in a great intake of air.

"I know that," said Bulma as she reached her parents room and pushed inside, "but who's going to take care of him? I can't cook for him! I can barely tolerate him!"

Her mother was thoughtful as she entered the large walk-in and began unhinging clothing from hangers. Bulma looked around at the room. It had been a long time since she had been here. It was large, but sparse, with just a king-sized bed and a few chairs.

Bulma sat down one nearest the closet and watched her mother.

"I suppose the two of you will have to fend for yourselves," she answered in a chirpy voice, sounding positive about the upcoming week. "Oh! What a great way for the two of you to get to know each other!"

Her mother peeked her head from the closet and pulled out two striped t-shirts, one red, and the other purple.

"Which one for your father?"

"Red," Bulma responded, sinking deeper into the chair cushion, sighing.

Bunny threw the shirt on the bed. "I think that you and Vegeta will have lots of fun next week! He's such a nice, polite young man!"

Bulma snorted.

"He keeps to himself," said her mother as she disappeared back into the closet, "but I just know that you'll be friends!"

Propping her head up on her fist, Bulma answered, "I don't think so mom. He nearly choked when I mentioned it."

"Mentioned what?"

"Not being total strangers in the same house," answered the young woman. "He's the complete opposite of Goku."

"Give it time," her mother said, tossing out a few pairs of pants that landed on the floor. "After all… he hasn't been here for that long."

"Seventeen days and counting," Bulma called out.

* * *

He pressed 'stop' on the shiny, new control panel. As the red lights faded to normal fluorescent, the gravity began rapidly decreasing to '0'. A robotic voice from overhead read him the time.

Vegeta grunted and stared out of one of the windows of the Gravity Room. He could not see very far past his own reflection but he could tell that it was late, and that he had missed dinner. This realization did not bother him. There would be plates of leftovers for him waiting in the refrigerator, as always.

Sliding open the doors, Vegeta walked out into the warm night air, his boots crunching the dry, sun burnt grass. As his stomach gave a rumbling growl, he could think only of hot dinner, the one thing that almost always seemed to be in surplus around here.

Upon walking into the kitchen, Vegeta noticed two things immediately.

One: The smell of his promised dinner was not there.

Two: The woman, as startlingly loud and annoying as she tended to be, was not awake.

Thoroughly irate, Vegeta stomped into the kitchen for sustenance. He opened the large white refrigerator and stuck his head halfway inside of it, sniffing. He reached a gloved hand inside of the fridge and pulled out a tiny white box labeled "Noodles". He liked noodles.

"Bah!" he declared once he had tasted them. He tossed the box of cold noodles on the counter. He shot a pea-sized blast towards the box, hoping that the heat from his energy would be enough to reheat the food.

The box was on fire for approximately twenty seconds before Vegeta doused it with water from the kitchen sink.

Vegeta placed his hands on the counter around the melted mess, considering his actions. He understood that there was some machine around the kitchen that would reheat his food. What he did not yet understand was how to use it, or rather, _why_ he should use it, where there were so many servants at his disposal.

"WOMAN!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, not caring that it was four in the morning, and certainly not caring that she was sleeping.

There was no response and Vegeta clenched his fists together and shouted her "given" name again. When she still did not appear, Vegeta made up his mind that the only way that he was going to eat would be to wake up one of the people upstairs.

Vegeta arrived on the second floor, his impatience growing most assuredly. He decided it would be in his best interest to wake the older woman, who would do as he said most quickly.

He thought of knocking as he stood by their room, and then decided against it. He pushed the door open with his finger and stepped inside.

Dumbly he stared at the bed and around the room. There was no one present. The bed was neatly made and Vegeta correctly deduced that neither the old man nor his wife had slept in it.

Which meant he would have to wake _her_ up.

Gritting his teeth, Vegeta stalked to the place he visited only in his darkest nightmares. He opened her door though it had been locked, and stood in her doorway.

She was completely sprawled out on top of her bed, the sheets bunched up around her and hanging half on the floor. Vegeta quickly glanced around her room. There were shoes and clothes in disorderly piles on the floor and notebooks open on her desk, pages fluttering wildly as wind blew in from an open window. And _this_ was the woman who had complained about his room.

"Get up!" Vegeta barked, folding his arms and standing in front of her bed.

Bulma rubbed her eyes slowly and blinked as she awoke. She let out a large yawn. When she saw the shadowy figure lurking over her bed, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"HELP!" she shouted.

Vegeta's hands went to his ears at once but it was to no avail. Bulma had a set of lungs like no other woman he had ever encountered.

And suddenly something was hitting him. Something hard. And wooden.

_She was attacking him with a baseball bat_.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT JUST BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN?" she was shouting, leaping across her bed at him.

_Thwack! _The bat connected with Vegeta's skull and broke in two.

Vegeta reached out and grabbed her free arm, hoping to quiet her incessant screaming.

"It's me you fool!" he shouted at her as she hollered and beat her free fist upon his chest.

Even in the dark the Saiyan prince could see the bright blue of her eyes. "Ve-Vegeta? Is that you?"

He released her quite roughly, not forgiving her for hitting him upside his head. "I'm hungry," he said, answering her indirectly.

For a moment there was silence. And then:

"YOU INCONSIDERATE, SELFISH JERK!" she yelled at him, flicking on the light switch in her room.

Adjusting his eyes, Vegeta focused in on the angry woman in front of him who was wearing a pair of men's shorts and a giant green t-shirt. Her hair stuck out in all directions and Vegeta, who had been wearing a sneer, actually snickered.

"SO YOU THINK THIS IS _FUNNY_?" she asked loudly, her chest heaving up and down from heavy breathing. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE AN INTRUDER!"

"Believe me woman, no man in his right mind would intrude in _this_ room."

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep. BZZZZZ._

The microwave lit up and inside a crisped box of noodles began to reheat. Bulma turned towards Vegeta who had been watching her actions without comment.

"See, there's really nothing to it. The microwave is one of the easier things to operate around here. You shouldn't have any more problems with it. I could even show you the oven and the toaster-"

Vegeta stopped her. "How long will this take?"

Bulma looked over at the digital timer overhead the microwave. "One minute and thirty seconds."

"That's not what I meant," Vegeta said with a frown. "I was referring to your speech."

Taken back, but not surprised by his rudeness, Bulma put her hands on her hips.

"You should really let me teach you, Vegeta." She glared. "Especially since I feel as though most of our arguments are going to stem from your lack of knowledge concerning kitchen appliances."

He curled his lip. "Or your big mouth."

"That too," she said in an even tone, not wanting Vegeta to feel as though he was making her angry. "Now do you want my help or not?"

"I don't need your help, woman."

Bulma threw up her hands in despair. "You wake me out of bed at four in the morning just so that I can turn on the _microwave_ for you, and now you don't need my help!"

"Right," he said to her monotonously, staring into the microwave.

She shook her head. "This is your last chance Vegeta. We're going to be surviving here alone for the next couple of days."

Though he masterfully kept his disgust hidden, Bulma could see traces of it as the corners of his mouth turned down. "Don't tell me that no one bothered to tell you."

He frowned. "As usual, I was not consulted."

Bulma decided to break the news easily to him, especially since the Saiyan had made it painfully obvious he desired nothing less than routine with the humans he _had_ to come into contact with. He did not enjoy surprises.

"My dad is receiving some kind of award at a weeklong convention. My mother's gone with him. Which means," Bulma added when Vegeta nonchalantly turned his gaze back to the microwave "that the two of us are going to be here by ourselves."

She sighed.

"Together."

Bulma did not receive the scowl or customary tongue lashing that she expected. Instead, Vegeta turned around, a cocky smirk on his face.

"So, _you_'_ll _be here, eh?"

She gave him a stony look. "_Yes_."

His smirk broadened as he stood straight. "Good. Perhaps now there'll be time to properly break you in."

Bulma once more felt herself struggling to contain herself. It was too early in the morning for a fight. Just plain too early!

Too late.

"_Excuse_ me?" she said, feeling her voice becoming shrill. "_Break me in?_"

He turned back to the microwave, which had less than ten seconds left. "Do you need a definition?"

Bulma was nearly speechless. _Nearly_. "You come in here and nearly _burn down this house_ and I'm the one who needs breaking in? Well you're wrong mister! And if you think that this week is going to include me running along after you like some scared little servant girl then YOU ARE WRONG!"

The microwave beeped, interrupting her tirade for a moment. But Vegeta did not reach in to take out his food. Instead he was staring at her, as though waiting for her to explode further.

"In fact!" she continued, giving him what he asked for, "I bet you can't even last a week without needing my help with something! And you know what, Vegeta? No matter how much of an asshole you are to me, I am going to help! BECAUSE DAMN IT… WE ARE GOING TO BE FRIENDS!"

"I don't-," he began but Bulma interrupted.

"I don't care what you do or don't want to be around here," she said, wrinkling her nose at him. "You've got my mother running around thinking you're some saint, which I'm sure, regarding your history, is as far from the truth as you can get."

He smirked.

"So, here's how this is going to work." Bulma exhaled. "We are going to co-exist at a somewhat peaceful rate. If you have a problem, let me know. I may even be nice to you. And furthermore," she added when Vegeta opened the microwave door and took out his dinner, "since I guess you training is for my own good, I'll make sure you have something to eat every night."

"When I'm hungry," he corrected her.

Bulma's right eye twitched. "When you're hungry," she restated.

* * *

"_You take four ounces of butter and very carefully mix them with the rest of your ingredients…"_

Bulma placed a stick of margarine into the mixing bowl. She stirred furiously.

"_Remember dears!" _the lady on the kitchen television said gently, _"Margarine is _not_ the same as butter!" _

"FUCK!" shouted Bulma, throwing down her spoon. "FUCK! FUCK!"

"_Aren't we having such a nice time together this afternoon?" _

Bulma almost tossed the TV out the window. "FUCK!"

"Bulma! What's the matter?"

Yamcha had come running from the living room where he had been watching TV and stood in the kitchen, panting. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was disheveled.

"I-I-I can't cook!" she moaned, falling against the counter dramatically.

"Aw Bulma," said Yamcha, patting her back affectionately. "We know that already."

"I know!" Bulma exclaimed tragically, pouting. "_Everyone_ knows how horrible a cook I am."

"There's more to life than good food," her boyfriend said expertly. He ran a hand through his hair and patted her back once more. "You're the smartest woman I know... and the hottest. That's way more important than being able to… _what_ exactly?"

Bulma gave a shaky sigh and pointed to the bowl on the counter. "I was trying to make scrambled eggs."

"_And there you have it, folks! Beautifully made pancakes!"_

Bulma covered her face. "I'm hopeless Yamcha."

"It does appear that way," he said thoughtfully. When the man saw the look on her face he stepped backwards. "I only meant that in the kitchen you're performance is… well…questionable. But it _is_ admirable."

He puffed out his chest and said, "It takes great courage to continue on, even when the odds are stacked against you."

"Thanks Yamcha," Bulma said gratefully.

"And I really mean _all_ the odds," he added.

"_Thanks_ Yamcha."

"Every last one of them. Count 'em. Every single last solitary odd is stacked tall and wide against-"

"I _get_ it Yamcha," Bulma said loudly, cutting him off. "I have just under one week to learn to cook before someone in this house dies of food poisoning."

"To get our mind off of this, let's go visit Goku," her boyfriend suggested, his stubble tickling her cheek when he kissed her. "Can't hurt to see what he's been up to, right?"

Bulma sighed again. "Right. Let me just put this in the fridge."

"Or the garbage disposal," said Yamcha holding his nose.


	6. Mercurial Madness

A/N: Wow, how time flies. I'm in for the long haul. I hope you guys are as well.

**DISCLAIMER**: I once owned my sanity. It's since dispelled.

* * *

Kami, it was amazing.

She had been watching Gohan and Goku's spar for the past twenty minutes with veneration. Standing beside her on the Son lawn was Yamcha, who dared not interrupt the father and son duo.

There was something about watching her best friend fight that made Bulma's insides quiver in excitement… or was it fear? She was always impressed by Goku's power, his energy. But most of all she was astounded by how someone so strong, so fierce, could at the same time be so gentle and good-natured.

Goku was going at an excellent pace. His fists were invisible to Bulma whose eyes were not trained to see things going at such rapid paces. She clasped her hands together and squealed.

"Oh, Yamcha! This is so exhilarating!"

Her boyfriend wrapped an arm around her pulled her closer.

"Yeah. Look at that kid go!"

Eight-year-old Gohan, a molded carbon copy of his mother, was appearing and disappearing, moving almost as quickly as his father was. Bulma could hardly contain herself.

"Woo!" she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. "You go guys! Yeah!"

Gohan threw a wild punch and Goku blocked it expertly. He fizzled out of the air and then reappeared behind his son who was knocked to the ground- hard.

Bulma winced. But Gohan merely stood up, brushed off his knees, and went at his father again.

"I've never seen anyone so determined," Bulma told Yamcha, grinning as she watched her best friend and his son.

"Hey!" Yamcha exclaimed, pulling away from her so that he could look down at her. "What about me?"

Bulma furrowed her brow and placed her hands on her hips. "Gee, Yamcha. _Someone's_ testy today."

He scrunched up his mouth at the corners in an endearing fashion Bulma had grown to love, but now found aggravating.

"I'm not _testy_," Yamcha said, turning so that he could watch the spar above their heads. "I just wouldn't mind a little encouragement from you every now and then."

Bulma glared at him even though he wasn't looking at her. "Encouragement?"

"Face it Bulma," Yamcha told her in a voice slightly louder than usual. "You practically emasculated me in from of Vegeta the other day."

This sudden outburst of information startled the young woman, and she gave Yamcha a scathing look.

"What are you _talking_ about, Yamcha?"

Overhead Gohan blocked a large energy beam and sent it flying past Goku and into a tree. Birds scrambled out of the tree and leapt into the sky, squawking.

"Sorry guys!" Gohan shouted at the heated couple.

Yamcha waved it off, and then looked at Bulma somewhat dejectedly. "You said that without Vegeta's help, Goku wouldn't be able to take on those Androids. I happen to think that I'll be a big help too, Bulma. I've been training just as hard as they have."

"You were sitting on my couch watching TV this morning."

"I was _taking-a-break_," Yamcha said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "A guy needs to rest every now and then."

Bulma could feel a headache coming. Her eyes were beginning to hurt. She decided that just this once, she would let Yamcha win an argument.

Then she decided against it.

"Well if you're so important," she said to her boyfriend, her index finger waving dangerously in front of his face, "why don't you go up there and train with them, huh?"

Yamcha turned his nose up at her. "Maybe I don't _feel_ like it anymore."

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he slouched, his eyes lowered.

"Alright, alright. Don't give me that look," Yamcha said, shaking his head. "It's just… sometimes I feel useless. Like I'm not even necessary."

Bulma grabbed his arm and said sternly, "Don't think like that. You are _not_ useless."

"Vegeta seems to think so."

She sighed. "Since when has Vegeta's opinion mattered to anyone?"

The statement fed directly into his ego and he grinned at her. Like that, their argument was forgotten. "Thanks babe."

Bulma leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around her. Men were _so_ easy to figure out.

"WOMAN!"

Well, normal men anyway.

* * *

Yamcha felt Bulma stiffen in his arms. He knew what was coming and tried to stop it before it occurred.

"No, Bulma," he said, tightening his grip on her, "don't-"

But it was to no avail. Vegeta was hovering a few feet off of the ground diametrically in front of them. And when he landed, it was obvious that he was angry, and his anger was contagious.

"_What_ is it Vegeta?"

"That piece of crap you pass off as an acceptable training unit malfunctioned. I demand that you go and fix it!"

Yamcha watched as his girlfriend balled her fists near her side. "Piece of crap? If it's such a piece of crap, why do you insist on locking yourself inside of it every night, huh? I'll tell you why!" she continued when Vegeta opened his mouth.

"It's because I'm a _genius_!"

Vegeta glared. "Your pride is severely misplaced, woman. Capable of grasping simple technology you may be, but a genius… well. Let's just say that I beg to differ."

Bulma paused for a moment and exhaled deeply as though to compose herself. "You being a complete asshole aside, I thought we agreed to be nice to each other!"

Yamcha gave the two of them a searching look. "You did _what?_"

"I agreed to no such thing!" Vegeta declared contemptuously. He glared at Yamcha. "And you stay out of this!"

"Don't you yell at him!" shouted Bulma.

"Then do as I say woman!"

"The _name_ is BULMA!"

"YOU GUYS!"

Goku's voice cut through the shouting. It surprised all parties involved, even Vegeta, who had been too royally pissed off to notice Goku land.

"Do you guys think that maybe you could uh… keep it down a little?" Goku nervously pointed towards the small dome where he lived. "Chi-Chi's sleeping and she's already mad at me because I kept Gohan out past his bedtime last night and she hates when I have guests over and don't tell her first."

Yamcha frowned. "Jeez, Goku, is there _anything_ you're allowed to do?"

While Goku mulled that over, Yamcha glanced back at his girlfriend and Vegeta, who were still glaring at one another. Vegeta looked as though he were ready to strangle Bulma, and that worried Yamcha mostly because if something bad happened, his girlfriend might expect him to jump in.

"You know what Vegeta? You are a huge _jerk_." She put her nose in the air. "All you have to do is ask nicely and I'll go right now and fix the gravitron for you," Bulma said airily, tilting her head up so that she and Vegeta were eye to eye. "Just one itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny little display of politeness. I'll snap to it, Vegeta."

"These were not conditions of our agreement, woman."

Yamcha was jolted. "There _was_ an agreement then?"

"Well it wasn't part of the deal for me to fix the GR either. I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart!"

Vegeta opened his mouth, and then shut it. "Too easy," he muttered.

"Maybe you should just fix it babe," said Yamcha, shrugging. "I mean, it's not like you haven't fixed it a thousand times before. Besides, it'll shut him up."

"Yamcha's right, Bulma," said Goku, who must have given up on trying to find things his wife allowed him to do.

Bulma turned around to face them both, her mouth wide open. "Whose side are you guys on anyway?"

"The side of peace and quiet," mumbled Yamcha. He coughed when Bulma sent him a dirty look, hoping to cover it up.

"Why should she fix the gravity room for you anyway?" he asked Vegeta, feeling a little braver since Goku was so near and because Bulma's puffy blue Afro hid his face. "Don't you have her dad eating out of the palm of your hand?"

Bulma stomped his foot and he stumbled backwards. Worse yet, now Vegeta's anger was directed at him.

"Foolish earthling!" he snarled. "Had the old man been around I would have gone to him first rather than settling for second best!"

Bulma stood her ground firmly. "So I take it you aren't going to be civilized?"

Vegeta was glowering. "Don't be ridiculous. I will _not_ be humiliated at your expense!"

"I'm not asking you to _bow down_ your royal pain in my ass!" Bulma exclaimed, looking at him a bit differently. "Is that what you think this is? Some asinine attempt on my behalf to embarrass you? Tell you what, I'll fix the Gravity Room for you because on Earth, people do favors for one another! I'm practically a saint!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes.

* * *

Vegeta began to walk away and Bulma balled her fists and raised them in the air.

"HEY! AREN'T YOU FORGETTING SOMETHING?"

He did not turn around, merely stopped walking and gave her a look from the corner of his dark eyes.

She huffed. "I didn't magically materialize out of thin air, Vegeta. I need you to fly me back!"

He didn't answer.

"If you want to train _today_ then this is in your best interest!"

Yamcha stepped forward as if to oblige her but Bulma rejected his offer and stubbornly held her ground.

"Unless _you_ take me, I'm not stepping _foot_ near that Gravity Room."

She waited as Vegeta thought over her proposal. In the time it took for her to blink her long lashes, Vegeta's hand seized her wrist. She yelped as she slammed into his chest.

"Hey! Careful buddy!" she shouted, half of her face going numb. "This is precious cargo you're handling."

Vegeta's tossed her over his shoulder with a flagrant disregard of her former statement.

Next to them, Goku arched his eyebrow.

"Be careful with her Vegeta," he said sternly when the two of them began to rise into the air.

"Yeah!" Yamcha chimed in. "You drop her and I'll kill you!"

Even Bulma was skeptical at that. After all, Vegeta had already killed Yamcha once. She doubted her boyfriend could return the favor. And when Vegeta grunted, she knew that he agreed.

* * *

Bulma could have kissed the dirt; so glad was she to have reconnected with it. She stood unsteadily, blades of grass scraping at her bare legs. Never before had she felt so dizzy after a flight. And then again, never before had she flown with Vegeta.

"Kami! What's the matter with you?" she shouted at Vegeta, who was eyeing her lazily from across the front yard.

Still raving mad and quite nauseous, Bulma picked a twig from her matted blue tresses and flung it at him. He caught the tiny stick in his fingertips, snapping it in half.

"If you throw it at me, you won't get it back," he said as a handsome smirk tinged his lips.

Bulma was almost at a loss for words. Shaking her head so that several green leaves fell from her scalp, she beheld the prince with a mixture of rage and bewilderment.

"You nearly killed me!"

"Relax woman," he replied, "Had it been my intention to kill you, I'd have done it while in the air."

Bulma stared open-mouthed at him, still picking through her hair for collected foreign objects. "Well it's not exactly relaxing to know you've put so much thought into it!"

Vegeta turned his back on her and began walking towards the compound front gates. "You exaggerate your value, servant woman. The planned execution of a weakling such as yourself requires no thought at all."

* * *

The sky had grown a bit darker in the past few hours and the air cooler. Indifferent to the change in weather, Vegeta continued his vigorous training regiment, jabbing the air so furiously that behind him, trees bended.

Training in the forest was not ideal, but since the GR was undergoing maintenance and he refused to grant the woman's friends the privilege of sparring with him, it was all he had.

It was too bad he was growing so damned hungry.

He considered briefly merely killing an animal to satiate his appetite. For some reason, this was not as appealing a thought as it might have been several weeks earlier. Vegeta cursed himself for craving earth food. The little blue planet was truly making him soft.

Perhaps he would take the woman up on her offer now. After all, she had agreed to fix him a meal whenever he was hungry. There should be no exception but he couldn't be certain. Earth women had unforeseeable mood swings, and he had managed to cohabit with the worst of them all.

Vegeta powered down and looked around. A woodland creature would be more filling than those damned noodles the woman's mother was always shoving down his throat. He could capture one easily enough, but was it worth it to waste the time, when the earthling woman had offered her cooking?

He hated his own indecisiveness and the rumbling of his own stomach as it begged for nutriment. He planted one boot firmly on the soil and pushed off the ground, blasting into the air. Moments later he saw the Capsule Corp. compound and floated above it, trying to sense the woman's ki.

Satisfied to learn that it was near his Gravity Room, Vegeta landed a foot behind the machine and silently walked around to its front.

She was lying underneath the gravitron, her long legs sticking out, knees bent at awkward angles. Vegeta could hear her banging at something, the clanking irritating his ears. He thought about giving her another couple of minutes so that she could finish, but his stomach growled again and he lost all thoughts not pertaining to food.

"Woman!" he said loudly enough so that she could hear him.

There was a loud _thud_, followed by a groan.

"Ow! Damn you Vegeta! I hit my head!"

He could not hide his smirk. Placing one hand on his hip, Vegeta used his other to grab one of her knees. He instantaneously yanked her from under the gravitron.

He bent slightly over her, still holding her ankle in his hand. "I'm hungry," he said coolly.

She tried to kick free but did not succeed against his vice grip. "Let go of me Vegeta! I almost had a heart attack!"

"Then we're even," he said, his smirk growing as he gave her a once-over. She was absolutely filthy, her hair, face, and lab coat covered in grease. "You're appearance nearly gave _me _a heart attack."

The woman propped herself up on her elbows and glared at him. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm busy working on the GR. I don't exactly have time for your insults. As witty as they may be."

Her sarcasm was not lost on the ravenous Saiyan prince, and he let go of her ankle and pulled her to her feet unceremoniously.

"We had an agreement. You're to cook for me whenever I so desire!"

She rolled her eyes at him and tried to wipe off a long streak of grease with her sleeve. "Fine."

Vegeta was immediately wary. "What did you say?"

"I said," the woman repeated slowly, "_fine_. After all, I made a promise. And I keep my promises."

He grunted.

* * *

Bulma leaned over the stove and checked the rice. So far it seemed alright, but she knew how dangerous it was for her to cook. In fact, she was completely flabbergasted as to why she had agreed to cook for Vegeta in the first place.

And as though she weren't nervous enough about preparing dinner, Vegeta had stayed to watch. It wasn't his presence that worried her; Bulma knew she was more than able to handle the irritable Saiyan prince. It was the _way_ he was watching her cook. His eyes bored into the back of her skull in a manner that unnerved her to no end.

"Can't you find something else to do?" she finally asked him, turning from the boiling pot to face her onlooker. "I can't cook with you breathing down my neck."

"Get over it woman," was his dark reply. "I don't trust you."

Bulma pointed a wooden spoon to where he stood near the refrigerator. "I am _not_ trying to poison you Vegeta! If I had wanted to poison you, I would have done it a long time ago!" she added, echoing one of his earlier sentiments.

He mumbled something that sounded like "insufferable" and "wench". Bulma grasped the wooden spoon tighter in her hand, not caring if she got splinters.

"You could show a little more gratitude you know! I'm cooking for you, fixing the Gravity Room! I made those bots you destroy and I slave for hours in my lab trying to make new ones! I never even get a thank-you!"

He returned her fierce look. "I suppose my training to rid Earth of those foretold tin cans isn't sufficient enough."

Bulma tried to push down her growing anger. She reminded herself that Vegeta was right. Somehow, this knowledge did not make her feel better.

"Woman," he started, but she cut him off.

"And that's another thing!" she exclaimed. "Would it kill you to call me by my real name?"

Vegeta growled. "I don't have time for this timeless babble. Now-"

She interrupted again. "Bulma is two measly syllables. Come on! Say it with me! Bul-ma!"

"WOMAN!"

"BULMA!"

Suddenly Bulma found herself thrown to the ground and a moment later there was a loud popping sound followed by a horrendous smell.

From her position on the floor Bulma could not see very much, but she gathered that whatever had happened, had to do with her cooking.

"Ve… Vegeta?" she stammered, standing wobbly and looking around the kitchen.

Vegeta was standing by the sink, running water over a busted and burnt pot. Black rice stuck to the walls and to the stove. Bulma was mortified.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, putting one hand over her mouth. "Look at this mess!"

"Tell me woman," Vegeta said crossly, "is this going to be a recurrent happening?"

Blushing red, Bulma nodded. "I can… I can order pizza for us Vegeta."

He rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day and turned off the water. Bulma was surprised to find that after all that had just transpired, he was not yelling or blowing up at her. Much less had happened to cause an insane reaction from him and it worried her. Had something hit him in the head?

"Are you… uh, are you okay?" she asked him, walking over to the sink and looking at him.

He raised an eyebrow, probably confused by her concern for him. But it couldn't be helped. He had thrown her to the ground for her own safety (or possibly in a last ditch attempt to save the food). Whatever the reason, Bulma found that she just couldn't stay mad at him for long.

"I'm fine," he said, sounding grouchy.

Bulma found the house phone and pressed the number 3. While she was waiting for the pizza place to pick up, she turned to Vegeta once more.

"What kind of pizza do you like?"

He raised an eyebrow. "How should I know? Just order the damned thing!"

"What do you think I'm _doing_?" she hissed as the ringing stopped and a teenage boys voice came through the line.

"Hi Ms. Briefs!" he said cheerfully. "What can Pizza Grande get for you today?"

Bulma heard the faint growling of Vegeta's stomach and she actually smiled.

"I'd like to order fifteen large pepperoni pizzas…."

* * *

**A/N**: CRAP this chapter took a long while to write. I certainly didn't expect to get writer's block so early. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

ACK! No one has reviewed it! Are you mad at me? I can't take the shame! I won't abandon the story if you don't abandon me!


	7. The Uninvited Guest

**A/N:** I want to tell all of you guys that every review really helped me to recreate and edit this chapter. So, in order to add some sort of "drama", I've finally begun working on what I consider to be an important part of Yamcha and Bulma's relationship. That would be uh... the end of it. Also, I do not dislike Yamcha's character. In fact, I find him both endearing and entertaining. So this is a fair warning to all of you Yamcha Hate Mongers. There will be _no_ Yamcha-bashing in this fanfic. Maybe some good-natured ribbing, but not by any means some of the things I've seen on here. Not that I think it's horrible, just not my take. Anyway- enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER: **If I owned DBZ, Vegeta would actually win battles.

* * *

Wearing a purple shower cap, yellow latex gloves, and rain boots, Bulma came downstairs the next morning prepared to do some heavy cleaning. The kitchen was a disaster. Burnt rice still spattered the walls and neither her nor Vegeta had bothered to dispose of empty pizza boxes or put away any half-eaten slices.

Bulma looked around in dismay. Where was she to start? Why had her parents given the gardener and cleaning men the week off? Sighing, she leaned under the sink and opened the cabinet. She took out a blue bottle of cleaning solution and a scour pad.

_Vegeta should really be helping me_, Bulma thought indignantly as she started scrubbing the stove.

Smirking, she shook her head. She wasn't about to press _that_ issue.

Bulma looked out of the window near the stove and into the backyard. The Gravity Room was humming and even though it was very bright outside, she could see glowing red lights from inside.

The telephone rang and Bulma gave an exasperated sigh. It was bad enough she was _cleaning_ without being told. Was it too much to do it without interruptions?

She clomped over in her too-large rain boots and answered.

"He's not here," Bulma answered brusquely, referring to her father's absence.

"Bulma?" It was Yamcha. "_Who_'s not there?"

Bulma did not hang up as planned. "Sorry about that. I thought you were someone for my dad. He's been getting a lot of phone calls lately."

"He's not there?"

Bulma put the phone on speaker and began cleaning again. "Nope. Didn't I tell you this already?"

"_No_," Yamcha stated and he sounded annoyed. "You conveniently left that information out, Bulma. And what are you doing up this early anyway? Does he have you making his Royal Highness breakfast?"

For some reason, his snappish comment concerning Vegeta got to her. Bulma stood up and pounded her scour pad on the counter. "I am _not_ making him breakfast. Is there even a reason you're calling me right now? I have a lot of stuff to do today."

That wasn't true. Bulma had only planned on cleaning the kitchen. If she didn't go right back to sleep afterwards, she had planned on shopping.

"I scored tickets to this action movie. I thought maybe you could come see it with me. It's supposed to be really good."

Bulma absolutely hated action movies. They were poorly written and a waste of cinematic expression. Besides, they paled in comparison to any action she had ever been personally involved with.

"I don't know Yamcha," she said, "I'm really busy here."

"Fine," he said, sounding put out. "Maybe I'll see you later."

"Bye," Bulma said.

He hung up and Bulma put the phone on the counter and began scrubbing again. Rice was now littering the floor around her.

"Great, now I've got to sweep too," she complained.

The phone rang again and Bulma nearly cursed out loud.

"_HELLO?_"

"Dear, is that you?"

Coloring, Bulma bit her bottom lip. "Oh, um… hi dad." _Way to go_, _genius_.

Her dad forgave her rudeness. "How is everything there? You don't sound so well."

Bulma looked around at the chaotic kitchen and decided to stretch the truth. "Well to be honest… everything's perfectly fine. The house is immaculate, Vegeta and I are getting along nicely and-"

"That _is_ fine!" her father exclaimed and Bulma could imagine him adjusting his glasses, as he always did when he got excited. "I'm glad to hear it!"

"How is everything there, dad?" Bulma asked, glad to hear his voice. It was beginning to dawn on her just how much she had missed him and her mother. "Have you gotten your award yet?"

"If only," her father sighed. "As it turns out, this weeklong convention is an endless assortment of speeches and unfortunately long ceremonies. Your mother and I haven't had a moment alone since we've been here. And she's dying to see the beach!"

There was a pause.

"Bulma dear, your mother wants to talk to you for a moment."

"Alright," she said, waiting for the phone to change hands. Thoughts of cleaning drifted cleanly away as her mother's voice came through the line.

"Hi there honey!"

"Hey mom," Bulma said, smiling into the phone. "How is everything?"

"Oh, it's beautiful here!" Her mother gave a cheerful giggle. "There's even an ocean front! We've been really tied up with boring meetings so we haven't had time to visit, but I can't wait! There are so many cute lifeguards here!"

"_Mother," _Bulma admonished humorously, as she always did whenever her mother went on about the young men she encountered.

"By the way, how is Vegeta? Is he eating well?"

"He's fine," she answered truthfully. "Really mom, except for Goku, I've never seen anyone eat so much!"

Bunny giggled again. "Well he _is_ a growing boy, Bulma! Where is he now?"

"Where else?"

"You should check on him Bulma dear," her mother remarked casually. "He's here alone you know. He needs someone to check on him."

Bulma did not agree.

"He's made it pretty clear that he doesn't need me checking in on him constantly."

"_Bulma_…." Her mother began in a disapproving voice and Bulma, rolling her eyes, heaved a large sigh.

"Fine mother. I'll check on him."

"Now?"

Bulma counted to three. She reminded herself that her mother was only trying to help her and besides, she really did miss her.

"Yes."

Her mother clapped her hands. "I won't keep you then! Bye honey!"

She had barely gotten the word 'Bye' from her lips before her mother had gleefully hung up the phone.

A moment later Bulma was walking across the backyard towards the newly fixed Gravity Room. The faint red light she had seen earlier became far more intense as she neared it.

The closest window was taller than she was, so she had to stand on tiptoes just to peer in. She wanted to do this quickly without disturbing the irritable Saiyan inside.

In the very middle of the room stood Vegeta, his back turned. Sweat poured down the length of his back, dripped hypnotically off of his shoulders and down his rippling arms onto the gleaming silver tile.

Bulma placed one latex covered hand over her chest to steady her breathing. She all but fell over as her legs wobbled beneath her. Bracing a boot against the side of the GR, she managed to continue her borderline stalker observation.

Vegeta put a gloved hand into the air, fired out a large red ball of light and released it. And suddenly it had hit the window Bulma was so amorously attached to. She screamed out loud and ducked. She stumbled backwards and hit the ground hard on her bottom, breathing heavily at her near encounter with death.

_Whoosh_.

The door to the chamber lowered with a hiss and revealed a short flight of stairs that led into the upper level. Bulma slid her eyes across the clean white steps until they rested on Vegeta's black stained trainers.

Her disobedient eyes floated upwards, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to focus her sights on something, _anything_ else.

She tried not to take the mutiny of her appendages too unpleasantly. Despite what she thought about Vegeta, there really was no denying how handsome he was. And especially not when he stood in front of her, wearing only a pair of tight spandex shorts and laced up Capsule Corp. sneakers.

"What are you doing?" he asked of her, his gruff voice breaking her concentration.

Bulma colored, absolutely positive he was reading her thoughts. "Well uh, I was just… uh… coming to check on you."

He furrowed his brow. "Nonsense woman. I don't require anyone to _check-up_ on me." Suddenly his expression changed into one of incertitude and he pointed at her head. "What is that ridiculous thing you're wearing?"

Bulma blinked, puzzled. What was he talking about? She placed a hand on the top of her head, feeling something plastic and crinkly. She turned redder than before after realizing what it was.

"It's a… it's a shower cap. I forgot to take it off."

She quickly freed her puffy cerulean hair from the confines of the embarrassing cap.

"I guess you didn't have these on your planet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely not. Nor those."

And he pointed to her giant rain boots.

Bulma raised one foot in the air to inspect them. She bit her lip and said, "I happen to think these are pretty cute. Look closer, they have tiny flowers painted on the side!"

"Absurd Earth fashions," Vegeta said darkly and he made his way back into the chamber.

Inexplicably, Bulma elected rather hastily to follow behind him and managed to leap inside of the GR before the door slammed shut behind her. She skidded to a stop in her slick boots and almost bumped into Vegeta, who was glaring at her from across the room.

* * *

"Get out."

He said it in his most menacing tone, one he had used when speaking to spineless combatants during his travels with Frieza. It had worked then and it would surely work now, on this flimsy blue-haired Earthling standing across from him with her hands on her hips.

"Nope! I don't think I will!"

She turned her back on him and began to walk around, her rubber boots making loud squeaking noises on the tiled flooring. "It's starting to smell in here. Don't you clean up?"

"I don't _clean_, woman."

She faced him, her blue eyes shining in the reddish light. "Well, you ought to, Vegeta. Otherwise it's going to _reek_ in here!"

She sniffed loudly. "Really Vegeta. I thought you were a prince! Weren't you required to learn about hygienic principles as a kid?"

Vegeta glared at her. "You have no room to talk, woman. Walking around here dressed like a clown!"

Her cheeks turned beet red and she threw her bright yellow gloves onto the floor and stomped the ground. "This is cleaning attire!"

"Stop behaving childishly!" he reprimanded her, feeling as though he were having an argument with a badly behaved child.

"Stop ordering me around!" the woman exclaimed, blowing hair from her eyes. "I'm serious mister! I've just about had it with you lately!"

"I've had it with your ugly face."

This comment, this rare joke that Vegeta elicited created the response he had been seeking. Her eyebrows rose into her unruly blue hair, her eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'o'.

"I am _not_ ugly Vegeta!" she all but screamed at him, moving forward so that he was within a foot of her loud, irritating voice. "And look who's talking! You in your… in your spandex! Can't you wear anything that _fits?_!"

Vegeta was taken back and he looked down at his shorts, coloring. "These are training shorts! And if I'm not mistaken _you're_ the one who presented them to me!"

"Well let me present you with this!"

And she flung out her right hand, every finger down except for one slender one directly in the middle.

* * *

He had grabbed her wrist almost instantly, and though his face remained stoic, Bulma could tell that he knew exactly what her affectionate gesture had meant. Well, that _had_ been the point.

"Let go of me Vegeta!"

His fingers clenched around her svelte, flimsy wrist. They were rough and calloused. Bulma let out an intake of breath when he pulled her closer to him, his dark eyes perforating her own. This was done with a seriousness she had not encountered since her first meeting with the Saiyan prince on Namek.

"_Make me_."

His tone was ineffable, and though Bulma was to some degree certain he would not harm her, a part of her was still unsure. And it was that part which began to wish she had learned not only self-control, but how to exhibit it around murderous Saiyans.

"Vegeta?" she voiced apprehensively, no longer looking into his eyes which had not left hers, but at his fingers, which were still clasped around her wrist. "You're hurting me."

His fingers slowly uncoiled from her flesh. Bulma pulled away almost instantaneously so that she could look down. There were blue marks beginning to show already. This did not frighten her, merely enhanced her anger.

"Look at what you did to my wrist you jerk!" she shouted at him, flinging her wrist in his face so that he could see what the mind-blowing atrocity he had committed.

It was so odd and even she realized it. Her fear had dissipated almost the instant he had released her, her certainty that he would not harm her intentionally had been re-established. And though she stood there in the midst of the red lit Gravity Room, engaging in another verbal spar with Vegeta, Bulma was uplifted by this slight display of humanity.

"Honestly Vegeta! I don't even know what your problem is sometimes!" shouted Bulma, poking him in the arm. "I mean, come on. We're on Earth now. For the _last time_, act civilized!"

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. "Do you listen to yourself when you go on like that?"

Bulma exhaled deeply and looked him straight in the eye. "Do you?"

He snorted. "Obviously not."

"Well it would do you a great load of good if you took someone else's opinion into consideration once in awhile." Bulma raised a bright turquoise eyebrow. "Like for example, the fact that I am _not_ ugly. To tell the truth, I'm quite possibly the most attractive woman you've ever come into contact with."

Vegeta snorted once more. "You would be wrong."

Bulma flushed, but was more intrigued by Vegeta's avowal. "Oh, is that so? Well, I don't believe you."

"Whether or not you choose to believe what I say is no matter to me," he said with a derisive drop of his shoulders and nonchalant gaze in her direction.

"I don't believe that either," Bulma said casually, wondering just where this conversation was going to lead the two of them now that they had finished an argument. Would they start another or leave in peace?

"I don't know why you can't admit it Vegeta," she said and she stepped back and began to openly check him out. "It's not as if I haven't told you a million times that you're cute."

* * *

Because admitting that he found the diabolical woman standing in front of him to be of some attraction to him could not be in his best interest. So Vegeta said nothing and averted his eyes from her, sincerely wishing that he had never been ejected from his space pod all those weeks ago.

"I'm serious now," the woman said to him, stepping a little closer. "Do you…" She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "Do you think that I'm pretty, Vegeta?"

Vegeta was taken back by the question. It had been a long while since anyone had asked his opinion and expected an answer. He became frustrated when he felt his cheeks warming and hoped that in the dim cerise light, she could not seem him blushing at her uncomfortable questioning.

He did not bother to look at her so that he could make his assessment. He had, quite against his own will, memorized her face in his mind and thanks to a recent event in the shower, her body as well.

"You are satisfactory to me," he answered stiffly. "And only that," he added once a smile began to present itself on her face.

Her eyes then spilled across his own figure and the Saiyan Prince stiffened, not entirely used to being observed in such an insouciant manner. More surprised he became when one of her hands shot out and grabbed at his left arm, squeezing a sore muscle. He tensed.

Before he could command the recalcitrant servant woman to remove her hands from him, she stepped back and looked at him wearily.

"I don't know why you get so edgy about me touching you. If you were as great as you say you were, I bet women were always falling over themselves just to get a glance of you."

Vegeta pushed her backwards away from him and she teetered, nearly falling over.

"A woman of your low class would not have been permitted to look at me. It would have been a luxury. One even you could not have afforded."

"Oh."

She lowered her eyelids. "Is that so?"

* * *

Bulma really had no idea what was getting into her, only that whatever it was, was clouding her usually credible judgment. She was beginning to view Vegeta in a way that was foreign even for her, an individual who was driven by every emotion known to womankind. What was this emotion she was feeling for him? Was it an emotion at all? Was it just another challenge?

She moved closer to her houseguest and he gave her a puzzled look. Without thinking about it further (because another moment's thought might draw her back into remission), Bulma grabbed Vegeta's wrist in her hands.

They were shaking, nervous hands. Now, this close to him, she could see the outline of his adam's apple, could feel his heart pounding under his skin. It's rhythmic pounding was hypnotic.

"Get off of me," he ordered, but it was a command that lacked his usual self-assured conviction. Bulma could tell then that she was making him suspicious and agitated, or perhaps at the very least, paranoid.

"No."

It was a simple word she had uttered, but it was the very she had uttered it that created the subsequent strained silence. Bulma could hardly believe how quickly she could change the atmosphere, let alone that she was speaking to Vegeta like this. In a tone so prurient and immodest of her.

Why did he let her hold his arm?

She began to see that there was something else that had been plaguing her thoughts recently. Something to do with a dream she had had only a few days after she had been introduced to the rugged, irritating Saiyan Prince. And how could Bulma not think about it, when Vegeta stood in front of her with gleaming skin, alluring golden-black eyes, and an ill-tempered personality that rivaled her own?

Bulma blinked, her decision made. It was now or never, wasn't it? Who knew when this opportunity might present itself again? Here in this moment she could indulge on her one dreamt illusion, achieve what her dreams had not.

He wasn't moving and neither was she, so wrapped up in her own fearful deliberations. Bulma heard her heart club at her ribcage, beating as though trying to break through.

_You can do it girl!_

And as she leaned forward, as the grip on Vegeta's wrist in one hand, and his arm in the other became more stringent, as she hoped that he would at least acknowledge the action she was going to take…. She felt as though she were watching herself from the outside.

There was a loud tapping on the Gravity Room's smallest window.

"Bulma!"

She leapt back from Vegeta as though burnt and turned towards the voice which had viciously ceased her initiative.

It was Yamcha. And from the look on his face, he had been watching her from the outside as well.

* * *

**A/N:** Might there be a plot to this story now? XD- no. On a side note, does **anyone** know the name of a fanfic about a teenage Trunks who uses a journal to write about his life with Vegeta? I read it a really long time ago and for the life of me I have no clue what it's called. I can remember bits and pieces of it (Trunks' birthday was in November, he and Vegeta didn't get along, Trunks falls for some monsters plot to... w/e). I probably shouldn't be doing this, but if **anyone knows the name of this or where I could find it**, I would revere you forever.


	8. Girl, Interrupted

A/N: I've got such big plans. I made an outline. I know where I'm going! I know where I'm going! The next installment will come quickly. Oh- and VOTE! It's important that everyone go out and vote [if of course, you are registered and eligible!]. I mean it ladies and gents- This election is important, no matter which candidate you're going for!  
**DISCLAIMER:** It's complicated.

[Last time, on Dragonball Z...]

_And as she leaned forward, as the grip on Vegeta's wrist in one hand, and his arm in the other became more stringent, as she hoped that he would at least acknowledge the action she was going to take…. She felt as though she were watching herself from the outside._

_There was a loud tapping on the Gravity Room's smallest window._

_"Bulma!"_

_She leapt back from Vegeta as though burnt and turned towards the voice which had viciously ceased her initiative._

_It was Yamcha. And from the look on his face, he had been watching her from the outside as well.  
_

* * *

For a moment Bulma was frozen in her place. Her jaw slackened and both of her eyes widened as very cold blood began to circulate through her stiffened body.

It was Vegeta who saved her then, more likely for his own comfort than for her own. He stepped backwards and Bulma nearly fell flat on her face as she had been leaning slightly upon him for support.

Yamcha's face had disappeared from the glass and Bulma knew that he was standing outside of the Gravity Chamber, waiting for her to appear. She also knew that in the few seconds it would take for her to reach the door switch, she had better come up with a darned good excuse for why she had been caught in so… so… so compromising a position.

Bulma turned around to face Vegeta, but he was already on the opposite side of the room, pressing controls. There was a flash of red light and a rush of heat.

_That jerk was turning on the gravity while she was still inside!_

Angrily Bulma raced to the door and opened it.

* * *

"What the Hell was going on in there?"

There was no mistaking the anger in Yamcha's voice as the door lowered into a flight of steps that Bulma began to walk down.

She could not answer him without a degree of hesitation, because she had no idea what she could say. Yamcha was apt as seeing through her lies as though they were clear as crystal. Besides, he had been watching.

Barely meeting his eyes, she somehow managed to say, "Yamcha, I'm…"

_What_, exactly? Sorry? Sorry she had been caught?

He cut her off with his hand, his gray eyes squinted in an irate fashion.

"I saw what was going on Bulma," her boyfriend said, sounding more pissed than she had seen him in awhile. "When you told me that you were here alone… I knew it. I didn't want to believe it could happen…"

"Yamcha," Bulma began, but his hand rose again.

"Save it," he said with the same tone, the wind blowing past them and swaying tree branches. "You don't have to lie for him anymore."

Bulma wove a hand through her windblown hair, feeling so guilty she could hardly stand it. "I know Yamcha," she said softly, "and I'm really… wait. What?"

Yamcha glared at the GR which had sprung back to life once more. "He was hurting you, wasn't he?"

When she didn't answer because of her bewilderment, Yamcha must've taken that to mean that he had guessed correctly.

"That's it Bulma! I've had it with this guy!"

His hands were balled into fists, the muscles in his arms bulging through his long-sleeved knitted shirt. His red tennis shoes dug forcibly into the dirt. The swaying tree branches behind him bent further at his testosterone driven display. Bulma did not know what he was planning, but that if it had to do with Vegeta, she would not be held responsible for his death.

"I'm going to go in there and teach this guy a lesson in respect!"

And suddenly she had thrown herself in front of him, her arms outstretched, both of her legs planted firmly on the ground. "No! You can't go in there Yamcha!"

She did not add, 'Because you'll die'. By the furious look on Yamcha's face as he looked back at her, Bulma knew he understood the meaning of her words.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he said, powering down a bit, but not losing his fighting stance or temper.

Bulma narrowed her eyes. "I can take care of myself, _alright_?" She exhaled rapidly. "Really Yamcha, I don't need you playing the hero."

He narrowed his eyes as well. "Oh, yeah? Well, if I remember correctly, you used to like it when I was around playing the hero. Especially when _your_ life was in danger."

Yamcha was clearly referring to their entire adolescence.

"Hold it right there," Bulma said defiantly, "If _I_ remember correctly, it was _Goku_ who risked his life for the _both_ of us!" When he was silent, Bulma crossed her arms smugly.

Yamcha continued as though she had not spoken. "Just what were you doing in there anyway? You said you were busy!"

And there it was; the suspicion, an accusation of something she certainly wasn't about to admit to.

Bulma both opened and shut her mouth, her tongue going dry. She was supposed to be a quick thinking fast talker. What had happened to her?

"Bulma?"

Yamcha's voice was no longer hostile, and void of anger. He stepped closer to her and gave her a concerned once over. Then, carefully he grabbed her right arm.

"When did this happen?"

* * *

The blue marks were brandished on her wrist, interlocked with purple bruising and the yellow glint of the sun. Against her pale, milky skin it was ghastly.

The colors formed the shape of fingers and a palm. Yamcha looked into his girlfriend's sparkling blue eyes and dared her to lie her way out of this one. This was undeniable. This was the irrefutable evidence that he had been searching for.

"It's not a big deal," she said, sounding completely unfazed by his concern for her. "Sometimes he doesn't know his own strength."

"That's not good enough."

Yamcha looked past Bulma and at the GR behind her. This time Vegeta would pay for what he had done.

Bulma had raised an eyebrow at him, her only emotion the same incredible look she had been giving him since he had suggested fighting Vegeta earlier. She pulled her wrist from him.

"If I don't care, I don't see why you should. Jeez, it's not like he tried to kill me or anything. Besides, he won't kill me with Goku around. I thought we established this a long time ago?"

Her long-winded speech was tuned out. Yamcha began walking, and he did not stop, not even when Bulma's speech turned into a loud screeching lecture about how Vegeta needed to train, blah, blah, blah. If he were completely honest with himself, Yamcha would admit that though he truly cared about Bulma, this fight was mostly for himself.

"Vegeta!"

He banged on the door hard and did so long enough so that Vegeta, whom he was sure had a short enough fuse, would eventually tire of the noise and see what was going on.

"Vegeta!"

The Gravity Room door quickly opened up, nearly leveling Yamcha who had strategically chosen to stand in its way. In the doorway stood Vegeta, shirtless and annoyed, his bulging arms crossed over his chest. When he saw Yamcha he growled.

Yamcha, who had thought that fighting Vegeta was a good idea just a few seconds ago, changed his mind.

"I see _someone_ is speechless!" rang Bulma's voice through the air. "Who would have guessed it."

Yamcha sent her a glare full of unspoken feelings of betrayal. "Who's side are you on anyway?"

"The side of peace and quiet!" she said, the irony not eluding the scarred man who had used those words against her not too long ago.

Yamcha opened his mouth to speak but found that the words could not escape his throat. This of course, was due to the fact that Vegeta's hand had tightened around it.

"Ah… cab… breed!" he struggled to shout. Of course his "I can't breathe!" plea was muffled by the large Saiyan hand choking him.

"Let him go Vegeta!" Bulma shouted.

Yamcha felt himself being lifted into the air. He kicked and swung his arms around wildly, but it was in vain. Vegeta did not let him go.

"Why should I?" asked his captor.

Bulma stomped over to where Yamcha was several feet off of the ground and crossed her arms. "Because I said so, that's why you jerk! Now let him down!"

Yamcha dropped mercilessly to the ground.

"Damned humans," he heard Vegeta mutter as he cleaned dirt from his knees.

Absolutely humiliated at being taken at the mercy of the Saiyan prince [and in front of his girlfriend no less], Yamcha made up his mind to take his revenge.

* * *

"_Wolf Fang Fist!" _

Turning swiftly, Vegeta caught his fist mid-attack.

"Pathetic moron!" he sneered viciously, "How dare you attempt to attack me?"

The fool may not have known it, but he had signed his own death warrant. Vegeta's ki spiked sharply and Yamcha, who must have felt this great increase of power, widened his eyes.

It was the last thing Vegeta saw of him before pummeling a fist into his stomach, which sent him flying across the Capsule Corp compound. A tree broke his fall.

Vegeta felt a smirk cross his face as he made his way over to the crumpled form. He had not hit anything in so long. This was by no means a replacement for the fight he would soon have with Kakarrot, but it would do. At the very least, he would enjoy it. Immensely.

The woman had reached the moron first, and she greeted Vegeta with a look of defiance and indignation.

"I think you've made your point Vegeta! What are you trying to accomplish by beating him up anyway?"

Vegeta easily pushed her aside. "I've never managed to kill anyone twice before."

He smiled his first smile.


	9. Her Insoluble Worry

**A/N**: Do you know how long it takes to find an episode of Dragonball Z online that works? Three hours.

**Disclaimer**: An actual disclaimer for this one. I wrote this chapter, HOWEVER: Nearly ALL of the entire bottom half of this story is FUNimation dubbed from Ep.109, _Z Warrior's Prepare_. It belongs to them and some other people and Akira, but not me. To be honest, I would have gotten better writers. I am not this cheesy.

I wish I owned Chris Sabat.

* * *

He could see nothing but red. Black. Greens and purples too.

It was very pretty.

It hurt like Hell, but it was beautiful.

"You're nothing but a big, fat jerk Vegeta!"

Yamcha, whose crumpled body lay embedded in the bark of a tree, painfully opened his eyes at the sound of Bulma's high-pitched input.

"This is none of your business, woman."

"None of my business?"

Her yells had turned to screams.

"Keep pushing me Vegeta! I am _worse_ than Goku!"

Yamcha struggled to stand up, spreading out his arms so that he could steady himself. He fell back against the tree, the ground swaying under his feet.

He could not see very much anymore, but he could make out both Bulma and Vegeta, who were facing each other and arguing.

"B-Bulma," he stammered, the wind still knocked out of him. "Don't bother w-wasting your breath on this guy… He's…."

But whatever it was Yamcha had been trying to say never made it from his mouth. Vegeta had uppercut him and released him powerfully back inside of the curved sheath of that same tree. His nose began bleeding profusely.

"Oh yeah?" Yamcha slurred, covering his nose to stop the blood from spilling onto his shirt. He tried to stand but stumbled back into the tree. "I'll show you!"

Almost drunkenly, Yamcha made a fist and swung it. It missed Vegeta by a few feet. What did not miss Vegeta, was how insolent this downtrodden, beaten man was behaving.

A strong kick plowed him directly _through_ the tree. All of the air left Yamcha's lungs as he struck the earth, inhaling dirt. Before he could stand, a heavy foot crushed into his spine.

"Stop it!" yelled Bulma for the umpteenth time.

Yamcha felt something crawl over his hands, which were pinned to the ground. He had been hit much too hard to make a complete sentence, but one thing was for sure.

"Let me up, Vegeta!"

Damn that cocky son of a bitch! Vegeta not only ignored his request, but pressed his foot down harder on Yamcha's back.

"Why should I? I'm winning."

Yamcha made an unintelligible sound and tried once more to unpin himself.

Epic fail.

"Your pathetic attempt at courage is almost admirable, weakling." Vegeta bent over and snatched Yamcha into the air by his collar. "Lucky for you, I enjoy a challenge."

He dropped a very surprised Yamcha onto the ground, headfirst.

"Move it!"

Bulma pushed past Vegeta and scrambled to Yamcha's side. She half lifted him in her arms and gave the man a severe look that made him flinch.

"What's the matter with you anyway, Yamcha?" she shouted at him, cradling his bleeding head.

"You're yelling at me?" he asked, trying to focus on her eyes, little drops of fuzzy blue and gray dotting his vision. "You're unbelievable!"

She dropped his head from her arms and once again Yamcha found himself sprawled on the ground. "You know, I've just about had it with you! You could show a little bit more gratitude!"

"HE PINNED ME TO A TREE!"

"YOU ASKED FOR IT!"

Yamcha jumped to his feet, but having forgotten in three seconds the extent of his injuries, stumbled and tripped over a bush.

"I underestimated you human," Vegeta's voice said from somewhere. "Your entertainment value makes you far more useful than I previously believed."

"I'm going home, Bulma!" Yamcha said, more angry with his girlfriend than he could voice at the moment. "And secondly…" He stood up without support. "… please catch me…."

His head, heavy as a rock and yet so incredibly light-feeling, dropped to his chest. The rest of him met the dirt.

* * *

Bulma had been in her lab for hours. She was not working. She was not inventing. She was merely sitting in a posh blue chair at her father's desk, her head resting on neatly stacked papers and colored folders.

She was thinking.

About Yamcha. About the Androids. About Vegeta.

Strangely enough, she had placed all of the above in order of importance. Vegeta, dead last and the subject of her most difficult thinking, should have been of no significance to her at all. After all, he had nearly killed Yamcha that morning. Something she was sure Yamcha would never let her hear the end of.

"What's the matter with me?"

She pushed a silver pen off the edge of her father's desk and watched it hit the ground. It reminded her of Yamcha.

Had he been right about her? Had it been in bad taste for her to yell at him? Sure, he was a complete numbskull at times and an occasional stubborn jackass, but he was _her_ jackass. She should have taken his side.

But Vegeta…

She smacked a hand against her face for the small flutter that she felt at the thought of him. Bulma tried to convince herself that it was normal to find the prince attractive. He was good-looking, muscular, strong, and his eyes…

"Get a hold of yourself girl!" Bulma said aloud, slightly embarrassed although she was alone.

She sat up and leaned backwards in the chair, her head tilted so that she was gazing at the bumpy white ceiling. She smiled.

So what if Vegeta was good-looking? He was an asshole. A jerk. A waste of her best efforts to instill manners and decency. He was going to take care of the Androids. Other than that, there really was no other use for him.

She felt guilty as soon the thought crossed her mind. Vegeta was alone here on Earth. Who was she to determine his worth? Of course, he _had _made it pretty clear what _her_ uses were. Not that she believed he hated her. It was all a façade. It had to be.

No one was that hard-hearted.

Bulma kicked back and placed her feet on the desk. Then again, she could not forget Raditz, Garlic Jr., or Frieza. All of them had been incapable of, or had seemed incapable of, compassion.

Was Vegeta like Raditz? Garlic Jr.? Frieza?

"I don't think so," murmured Bulma. "He can't be."

"Dear?"

So surprised was she to hear her father's voice, Bulma nearly fell backwards in the chair. She shot forward and grabbed onto the edge of his desk, pale.

"Dad?"

Her father, dressed impeccably in a white lab coat as always, adjusted his glasses and looked at her with concern. "What are you doing in here, Bulma? Is something the matter?"

Bulma jumped from her seat and threw her arms around him. "Of course not! I just needed to do some thinking and I get too distracted by a messy room. Your office is a lot cleaner than mine!"

Her father squeezed her and then pulled back. "Well, it sure is nice to be home. I didn't mean to startle you but…"

"What are you doing home so early?" Bulma cut in, her eyes squinted. "Don't you have a few more days left of the convention?"

Her father rolled his eyes and let out a lengthy sigh. "Your poor mother and I couldn't stand another day in that dreadful place. Lectures every day, boring activity after boring activity. And let's not forget the hundreds of bankers who show up and spend every breathing moment trying to take your fortune."

Bulma frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know you were looking forward to your award."

Her father smiled and dug his hand into a small brown case she hadn't noticed him carrying. "Ah, about that."

He lifted his hand out and revealed a small golden trophy with his name engraved at the bottom. "Your mother lifted it for me out of their storeroom."

* * *

_Flip_. _Flip_. _Flip_.

Bulma turned another page in her science catalog. She kept up with what was popular so that Capsule Corp never fell behind in technological advances. Unfortunately, as she sat with her legs crossed in the living room flipping through the magazine, she was having a hard time concentrating.

Outside, Vegeta was training in the Gravity Room and had been all morning. Bulma wasn't completely sure he had left it at all after his fight with Yamcha the day before. Yamcha, whom had called to apologize, had been granted permission to train on Capsule Corp grounds. Bulma could faintly hear Puar, his shape-shifting blue pet, cheering him on outside.

Bulma sighed loudly, wishing there was someone she could complain to aloud. She settled for herself. "Everyone else is working so hard to get ready for those Androids while I'm sitting around the house doing nothing!"

Her magazine forgotten, she leaned forward and rested her chin on her palm. "I wish there was _something_ I could do."

As if to answer her depressed wishes, she heard her mother call her name.

"Bulma! I stopped by the bakery today and look what I bought for us! Nice, huh?"

Her mother had joined her in the living room carrying a large metal tray loaded with various desserts and pastries. One dessert in particular, a large yellow cupcake, seemed to be calling her name. But even then, as she was overwhelmed with the smell of chocolate and sugar, Bulma could not eat.

Her mother squealed in delight as she placed the tray in front of her. "Don't they look scrumptious? Now, which one do you want?"

"They're all yours mom," Bulma said without hesitation, putting her hands behind her puffy, blue hair. "I'm not very hungry."

Mrs. Brief looked flabbergasted and Bulma did not blame her. It was not often that Bulma gave up the chance to eat sweets.

"What's wrong with you? Are you feeling lonely because all the boys are spending all their time training and not spending time with you? That's it, isn't it dear?"

Bulma became instantly overly defensive. "Oh, _please_." She heard her father's footsteps. "I'm just not very hungry!"

"You know," her father said with a large yawn, "I'm starting to think Vegeta is a few cards short of a full deck!" Dr. Briefs looked quite irritated. "It wasn't enough to have the simulator create 300g for him! Now he's demanding that I make _more_ equipment for him to train with. Then all he's going to do is break it!

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me at all," said Bulma, very engaged now that Vegeta's name has been brought up.

Her mother poured a cup of tea. "Well, _I_ think it's great he works so hard!"

Bulma heard the exasperation in her father's voice. "Oh, _sure_ he's training hard. But don't you think he's overdoing it?"

There was a gleeful grin playing on her mother's face. "Oh, no! I think it's very admirable. In _my_ day, a man that showed _that_ much dedication to _anything_ was _definitely_ husband material!"

It was not something Bulma hadn't heard her mother say before. Come to think of it, most of what her mother said nowadays had to do with Vegeta becoming someone's groom.

_Poor girl_, thought Bulma, thinking about the innocent, unsuspecting woman who might one day find herself in his clutches.

* * *

_What's the matter with me? Why can't I do this_?

The room around Vegeta was red, brightened only by the large white spheroid of energy he had released. Weighed down by 300 times Earth's gravity, the blasts' girth and power had expanded greatly. It now ricocheted dangerously around the chamber, striking floating mechanical bots and bouncing off of them.

Vegeta's red eyes followed it with unfailing determination. He had not slept. He had not eaten. He had only trained, and now, as the sweat on his body began coming in smaller increments, he was reminded of his hunger, his dehydration.

He chided himself for thinking of that when there were more important things at hand.

_I can do this!_

Vegeta spun around, miscalculating his movement and paying dearly for it. It struck him in his shoulder and he dropped hard on the tiled Gravity Room floor. He looked up in time to see that the blast was coming full-speed at him.

Quickly he gathered his strength and fired another one to deflect it. So terrifyingly weak was he becoming! Vegeta gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, strained against the weight of the oncoming ball of energy.

He released more of his power into his reflective beam.

_I am a Saiyan!_

And his blast began to overtake the other, fighting it backwards, pushing it away. And then something happened that the prince did not expect.

The walls began to shake. The very foundation of the chamber began to crumble beneath him. Red and white light mixed in the air, blinded him. He could hear the explosion, hear the crackling of open electricity, hear the destruction of the newly rebuilt Gravity Room.

The ceiling began to break apart. The walls broke apart. The flooring broke apart. Vegeta too, felt himself being broken apart.

* * *

She had heard a sound like that before. The sound of glass breaking and walls caving in. Bulma cared not for the spilled hot tea in her lap, but suddenly and inexplicably for the life of the man who was inside of the exploding Gravity Room.

"What was that?" her mother asked, fairly shaken, but Bulma had no time to answer. She leapt out of her chair and ran out of the front door into the bright sunlight.

"It's dangerous!" her father shouted after her, but Bulma ignored him too. She spun around the side of the Capsule Corp. mansion and ran into Yamcha, who was wide-eyed and standing still in the yard.

"What are you doing just standing there?" she shouted at him. Grabbing his arm she ran faster, dragging him behind her.

As they neared the Gravity Room, Bulma could smell burnt wiring and could see the gray haze of smoke. Her heart thudded in her chest.

She could barely keep her composure as the ruins of the Gravity Room came into sight. It was nothing but a shell of its former self, completely destroyed and collapsed.

_What has he done?_

"Vegeta!" she cried as she ran towards the wreckage. "Vegeta!"

Bulma reached it first, but Yamcha did not miss a beat.

"I knew this would happen," he said gravely, looking on as she began frantically digging through the rubble. "He's been trying to do the impossible!"

She ignored him, as usual. "Where _is_ he?" she asked, her voice quivering. "Vegeta?"

When there was no response, she began searching more frantically. He was okay! He had to be okay!

A bloody hand shot through the crumbled pieces of cement and screaming, Bulma leapt backwards into Yamcha, who fell over with the weight of them both.

An elbow followed the hand, an arm followed the elbow, and finally a scratched and bleeding torso, unmistakably Vegeta. So relieved was she, Bulma felt dizzy, unsteady.

Less unsteady than Vegeta of course, who, though he seemed very determined to do so anyway, could barely stand.

"Y-you're okay?"

He snarled at this comment and scathingly replied, "Of course I am!"

With that, Vegeta stopped trying to steady himself and stood in front of both Yamcha and Bulma, as though daring them to refute him. Bulma however, was getting angrier by the second.

"How dare you, you dweeb?" she shouted and Vegeta at least had the decency to look startled. "You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?"

Vegeta's legs began to wobble violently, but he stood his ground. He looked as though he wanted to say something to rile her, if his half-laugh was any indication. But all that happened was that he lost his balance. Eyes shut, he fell back into the rubble he had climbed out of.

"Oh no!" gasped his self-proclaimed female adversary. Bulma ran to his exhausted body and lifted it partially off of the ground. "You're hurt!"

He looked into her eyes, almost sleepily. "No, I don't need help. I've got training to do."

"You've got to stop training for awhile! I mean, look at you! You're a complete wreck!"

"But I feel fine!" he argued, as though she were his mother. "I'm a Saiyan! I can take a little pain, it means nothing to me! And I _have_ to get stronger than Kakarrot!"

Bulma felt something expand within her chest at his prideful speech. "Okay, sure. We all know you're a tough guy, but you need to rest now!"

Vegeta pushed away from her. "_I take orders from no one_!"

As if to prove this point, Vegeta attempted once more to stand on his legs. Unfortunately all he did was prove Bulma _right_, when exhausted, he swayed and tipped headfirst back into the wreckage. He did not move again.

* * *

Dr. Briefs finished wrapped the gauze around Vegeta's left ankle. He turned towards his daughter, who hesitated and then slowly pulled the blanket up to cover the patient.

"He should be fine here in the infirmary," Dr. Brief's said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Bulma knelt by the edge of the bed where Vegeta lay unconscious. "Is he going to be alright daddy?"

"I hope so," he answered swiftly, sensing that his daughter was worried. "The only thing that he hasn't bruised are his eyebrows! If he stays in bed for a week or so… he should be alright. He's dodged the bullet again. It's a miracle he survived such a horrible accident."

Kitty dug her claws into Dr. Brief's shoulders and he realized that he was upsetting both his daughter and wife with his frankness. "Those Saiyans are practically indestructible!"

Beside him, his wife began to sob into a hanky. "Poor Vegeta!"

He gently held her. "Come on dear, let's let him rest."

And though he wanted to ask Bulma to come along with them, he did not bother.

He knew where she would be.


	10. An Artful Ploy, Simply

**A/N**: So this is something a little different; a chapter completely based on Vegeta's perspective. This is definitely my favorite chapter so far and for that reason I really hope you guys enjoy it. If you do, don't forget to Read and Review! I feed off of those. ;)

**DISCLAIMER**: There are actual FUNimation quotes in here, from ep. 109, _Z Warriors Prepare_. Those I don't own. However, I **DO** own the cool DBZ characters I made on the Sims 2. Hell yeah I do. I just need a TURTLE.

* * *

Vegeta stood idly next to his father, the two of them watching shuttles fly past the loading dock balcony. Outside it was so blue the child felt as though he could swim deep into the sky. He closed his eyes and scuffed a white boot against the tiled flooring, stoic.

"Those ships are headed to distant galaxies," voiced his father, breaking his daydreaming. "From the day we are born, we Saiyans are examined for our power and leadership. The weakest of our people are sent to planets far away where they face no threat from our enemies."

Vegeta folded his stubby arms across his chest, determined to gain an ounce of the great Saiyan king's respect. "Good-bye pests!"

His father turned completely to face him, his shiny armor reflecting in the fluorescent lighting and stinging the boy's eyes.

"Vegeta," he said sternly, "you come from a strong bloodline and you possess the potential power to join the Super-Elite of all Saiyans! Never forget where you come and train very hard my son because, if you have proven yourself worthy, perhaps some day you will become a Super Saiyan!"

An adult Vegeta now stood alone, in torn battle armor, white haze around him. He was finally swimming in the sky.

_I haven't forgotten what you said, father. I haven't forgotten my destiny. And now I know that I will be stronger than Kakarrot… I am a Super Saiyan! _

Vegeta sat bolt upright in an unfamiliar bed. The oxygen mask that had been covering his mouth and lower jaw fell onto the sheets. He took a moment to look around and realized that he was in one of the in-patient bedrooms at Capsule Corp.

He relaxed his head on the cool, crisp pillow beneath him. But he did not relax for long. He could feel a low power level very close to him. Moving only his head, Vegeta looked to see where it was coming from.

_What is she doing here?_

His servant woman had fallen asleep at the bedside table next to him. Next to her was a half-empty pail of water, a drying cloth inside. Had she been administering to him all this time?

He decided it did not matter and sat up once more, this time pulling the sheets from him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Vegeta instantly regretted it. Each of his limbs felt as though they were ablaze.

Cursing softly so as not to wake the woman, Vegeta slowly and painfully rose from the bed, planting both feet on the ground. He put a hand on his heart to steady himself. His chest felt as though it had caved in.

Vegeta put an unsteady hand on the brass doorknob and gathered breath. By the time he had left the room and plodded down the hall, he could hardly breathe at all. And each time he looked down at himself, seeing the bandages and wrappings covering his body, he wanted nothing more than to collapse, but he could not.

He would not!

Too intelligent to attempt flying in his state, Vegeta opted to continue walking to the Briefs' laboratory. On his way he narrowly avoided a run-in with the woman's mother, who no doubt would have given him an earful about moving around at all in his condition.

_Damn them all!_

Vegeta had perilously made the journey down several flights of step into the laboratory basement of Capsule Corp. Now he stood in front of large steel doors with red and yellow signs across the door marked 'Warning' and 'Specialized Employees Only'. There was an electronic numerical keypad on the wall across from the doors, apparently for entering codes.

Vegeta, looking straight ahead, slammed a fist into the keypad.

"_Access Denied_," came a cool female voice from overhead.

Angry that he was having to wait at all, Vegeta punched the doors instead. The steel door fell in, and the prince pushed past it wordlessly, only to find himself in front of another pair of doors.

"This is getting ridiculous," he growled aloud, already irritated that he had wasted time he could have spent training.

"_Failed Voice Recognition_."

His left eye twitched.

"Vegeta?"

He turned at the sound of his name. Behind him, holding a large shard of steel in his outstretched hands was the woman's father, his eyes round beneath his glasses.

"Did you do this?"

Vegeta crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "What does it matter? I order you to begin work on my simulator. It needs to be rebuilt immediately!"

To his surprise, the woman's father did not scuttle off to labor. Instead he sat on the ground and began examining the metal in his hands. He adjusted his glasses.

"Oh, that was done _ages_ ago my boy! It's in tip-top shape!"

Vegeta was absolutely flabbergasted and he forgot for a moment that he was pissed off at the world. "B-but _how_?" he demanded to know. "How could you have finished so quickly?"

Dr. Brief shrugged his shoulders. "Well I _am_ no ordinary man, Vegeta. In fact, it only took around three days for myself and a few others to get the repairs done! It was an all-nighter, believe me- AAAAH!"

Vegeta had lifted him by the scruff of his coat and pinned him to a wall. "What do you mean _three days_?! How long have I been unconscious? Well? Speak up old man!"

Shaking in his captor's grasp, Dr. Briefs put out both hands to indicate he wanted peace. "You were out for four days, Vegeta! And truth be told you shouldn't really be out of bed at..."

Vegeta tuned out as he held the woman's father against the wall. His actions might have spoken otherwise, but Vegeta was not angry with the old man. He was angry with himself. Angry because he was a weakling, because he had unknowingly taken off four days of his regiment when Kakarrot had not.

"V-Vegeta? Not to be rude or anything," the man said to him and Vegeta turned to let him go, "but why didn't you just ask Bulma? Isn't she upstairs?"

Vegeta released him and gruffly replied, "She's not awake."

The old man looked happy to hear this. "Well that's fantastic news! She hasn't slept more than a few hours since you've been in the ward. I told her I'd take a shift but she flat out refused!"

"I don't require looking after!" Vegeta said, more angry now than before. "I am the Prince of all Saiyans! A Super-Elite!"

He didn't like the tender look in the old man's eyes, and he sure as hell didn't like being mollycoddled like an infant! And why hadn't he woken up the woman? He swore beneath his breath for his involuntary show of consideration for the earthling and her sleeping form.

"Stop looking at me like that old man or you won't live to regret it!"

Vegeta growled and stomped off in the direction through which he had come. He needed to make up for his lost time. Arguing with the scientist would not fix anything.

This time Vegeta did not carefully tread the steps. Alternatively he began taking them two at a time. It burned his legs and his back begged for mercy that he did not bestow. The pain meant nothing to him.

Vegeta entered the backyard of Capsule Corp and began the familiar path towards his beloved Gravity Chamber. And then, there it was in front of him, bright and working properly, 'Capsule 3' lettered with black paint across the front.

"So you have your uses after all, old man," the Saiyan mused, pressing the button that lowered the front door into a flight of steps.

Once inside Vegeta wasted absolutely no time. He activated the room, set the gravity for 100G and instructed the machine to increase in increments of 100 every ten minutes.

As the white light darkened to crimson, the gravity tugged ruthlessly on the broken body of Vegeta. This aggravated him to no end. Only four days ago he had been able to train in 300 times Earth's normal gravity! How foolish he had been to total the GR at such a critical time!

He dropped the floor, one arm squared beneath his chest, the other behind his back. Tirelessly, he began to do push-ups.

_One. Two. Three. Four._

He grunted as a dull pain shot through his shoulders.

_Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-six._

Vegeta paced himself, the muscles in his arms straining so much he was certain he had torn them.

The gravity changed to 200.

_Two-hundred forty-six. Two hundred-forty seven._

The gravity changed to 300.

_Three-seventy. Three-seventy one. _

Beads of sweat dripped off of his chest and his face, rolled down his arms and chin and onto the ground. Even his hair had begun to sweat, so much was the intensity.

His right leg was now in excruciating pain, but it was of no regard to the prince. Vegeta exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Up. Down. Up. Down. His right hand was still behind his back.

"_Initiate gravity simulation: 400 times planet's normal gravity. Warning: simulation exceeds human biological tolerance levels."_

The pull of gravity increased once more, but Vegeta was not deterred. He continued his push-ups. Up. Down. Up. Down.

With extraordinary effort, he managed to complete a full headstand, using only his left hand to steady him. He began to do a series of push-ups in that position. The pain was almost too much.

To reduce the effects of the elevated gravity, Vegeta rose into the air. He began to rotate, his body pleading to be slammed into the ground, to die, to be given sweet deliverance from this madness.

Abruptly, a screen flickered and a very loud, very pissed off voice filled the room.

"STOP IT VEGETA!"

It was the woman, and she had not forgotten to bring her attitude. Vegeta had seen anger before, but this time, as her large blue eyes mirrored her fury and rage, her teeth bared, he felt something a bit different.

"YOU ARE IN NO CONDITION TO BE DOING THIS RIGHT NOW!"

When he made a guttural sound in his throat as a response, the blue-haired banshee became infuriated.

"I KNOW YOU DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE IT BUT YOU ARE MADE OF FLESH AND BLOOD!"

And maybe he had suspected that, because her comment annoyed the hell out of him.

"Stop pestering me, woman! Leave me alone!"

And unlike many times, when his prior statement was utilized to engage the woman in verbal combat, he meant it. Regrettably, in his rage, Vegeta had forgotten to mind the pull of gravity and he crashed to the floor.

"YOU _KNOW_ I'M RIGHT!" The woman's face took over the entire monitor. "SO WHY DON'T YOU JUST KEEP QUIET AND _DO AS I SAY_?"

When Vegeta found it difficult to form even the simplest of sentences, she charged in once more.

"Nothing to say? Well, _that's _good." She looked haughty. "Now go back to bed and _get some rest_."

Such insolence! Vegeta raised his head off of the ground, gravity nearly breaking his neck. "Not yet," he spat out, "I _do_ have something to say…"

Suddenly the woman looked very concerned. Her eyes grew large. "What? Is something wrong?" The look faded into a smirk. "Or maybe you're finally going to apologize to me! If that's the case then let's hear it!"

With one final surge of energy, Vegeta lifted half of his body from the floor.

"LEAVE ME _ALONE!_"

The surprise on the woman's face was irrefutable. She did not put up a fight, merely turned off the dual communications. Vegeta was not sorry.

He stood up in the GR, panting from his excursions, his blood boiling hot.

"I don't understand you, woman!" he growled, wishing now that he had not even granted her the opportunity to yell at him. He did not care for her pretend friendship. And yet he wanted, no _needed_ to know why she bothered at all.

What the hell did she want from him?

Her faux-concern, as see-through as the space between her blasted ears! Such an enigma!

To have woken up so defenseless, to see her asleep at his bedside.

It could not be real!

She was deceptive, crafty, a paragon for the conniving earthlings he had grown to distrust! He had let his defenses down with her before, had even stooped so low as to let her touch him. What his father would think of him now, a Saiyan prince being taken by a pathetic Earth woman!

"Damn you!" he shouted into the chamber.

He would not let her take him for a fool.

* * *

A/N: Will Vegeta ever surpass the great Kakarrot? It looks like an uphill battle for our prince, especially since we all know what Goku's power level is.... Here it comes:

"IT'S OVER 9,000!" Ah. Sorry. Had to get that out. It's been clawing at my insides for days.


	11. He Should Have Gotten The Warranty

**A/N:** So, here is the latest installment. Enjoy! And if you like it/cannot stand this fic, please let me know by taking six or seven seconds out of your schedules to abuse the 'review' button. ;)

**Disclaimer**: Oh, I am so over disclaimers.

* * *

[Last time on Dragonball Z...]

_ She was deceptive, crafty, a paragon for the conniving earthlings he had grown to distrust! He had let his defenses down with her before, had even stooped so low as to let her touch him. What his father would think of him now, a Saiyan prince being taken by a pathetic Earth woman!_

_"Damn you!" he shouted into the chamber._

_He would not let her take him for a fool.  
_

* * *

What did he think, that she was trying to take him for a fool?

She slammed a crate full of nuts and bolts on the cement floor. "Prick," she muttered, adjusting her goggles so that they rested on top of her head.

Bulma had been in her lab all day, working on an intense project with her father, who had slipped out to get "a bit of fresh air". That of course, implied that he was taking a smoke break. Those had become a bit more frequent as of late, when her mother had forbid him to do so. Bulma hadn't smoked a cigarette in several years, but she could have gone for one just about then.

The project had taken a few weeks to complete. Generally any project she worked on took months to complete, but things had been unusually quiet at the Brief's compound lately. Vegeta had been avoiding her ever since the accident, and after his anguished outburst three weeks ago, even Bulma knew to leave well enough alone. Besides, without Vegeta breathing down her neck or yelling at her to fix the GR, it was really quite nice to be able to work like this.

So why was she so worried about their lack of contact?

"I should try and enjoy this," Bulma said, sitting on the ground next to the crate and sticking her hand inside. "No Vegeta for twenty-one whole days."

"They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness!" exclaimed her father as the lab doors swished open and he walked inside.

He smelled like pipe tobacco and Bulma felt a tingling sensation in her hands and an insatiable craving to smoke just _one_ cigarette.

"Are you ready to test it dear?" asked Dr. Brief, rustling her hair as he walked past her. He grabbed a pair of goggles and placed them over his glasses.

Brushing her knees off, Bulma stood up and slid her goggles over her eyes. She then walked towards a large container that held a large piece of machinery. She picked it up in her arms.

"Turn her on dad!"

Dr. Briefs pressed a small black button on a remote. The bot purred to life in Bulma's hands.

"Alright! It works!"

The young scientist had been working on the damned thing for weeks. What she held in her hands now reflected that; a highly sensitive training droid for Vegeta- who else?- that was designed to withstand an entire 500 gravity pull.

"Fantastic!" her father said excitedly, pushing another button and turning the bot off. "And it should only take a few more weeks to make more!"

Bulma looked at the tiny robot critically. Thinking about it being locked in the GR with Vegeta made her pity it. "I just hope he doesn't break it." She cradled the droid in her arms like it was an infant.

"I'd like to see him try," her father said with a smile. "Now to see if it works! Would you like to take it to him dear or should I?"

Bulma, still weary of Vegeta, thought for a moment. "I guess I should take it to him dad. He's not used to you barging in on him."

Dr. Brief smiled. "Of course. I'll just leave this here while I go get some more fresh air."

He winked.

After her father left, Bulma made no move to take the bot to Vegeta. She was so tired. And why had she quit smoking anyway?

"_Yamcha_," Bulma said with a growl, remembering how much her boyfriend hated it whenever she had placed one of the long, slender cigarettes to her lips. Sometimes when they had argued, she had taken long draws and then blown tiny smoke rings in his face.

Obnoxious on her part, yes, but more something she attributed to being young and immature.

A loud vibration from her lab coat pocket startled Bulma out of her thoughts. Fumbling around for a moment, she finally managed to fish her cell phone out of her pocket. The blue screen indicated that Yamcha was calling her.

"Speak of the devil," she said, flipping the phone open and pressing it to her ear. "Yamcha?"

There was a pause and then he cleared his throat.

"We need to talk."

* * *

Bulma heard the screech of tires from the kitchen where she had been enjoying a very hot cup of coffee. She set the mug down on the kitchen counter and took a few deep, calming breaths. She arrived in the front hall just as there was a knock at the door.

Somewhat nervously, she placed a hand on the brass knob. Yamcha had sounded so serious on the phone. What was eating him? Why did they need to talk?

"Hey stranger!" Bulma greeted him as he entered, chilled by the cool air outside. She hurriedly closed the door and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Yamcha moved his head to the side and the kiss missed him. He walked past her and into the living room where she followed him, confused by his refusal of her affection.

"What's the big idea, Yamcha?" asked Bulma, folding her arms across her chest. "I haven't seen you in weeks!"

He turned to face her, his lips and eyes thin. "That's why I'm here."

He carefully removed his coat and threw it over the couch. He seemed angry.

Bulma raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a mind reader. Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are we just going to stand here? Huh?"

Yamcha gave a long, deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He no longer seemed angry, only tired.

"What's been going on with you lately, B?"

She straightened at the sound of his nickname for her. She could not remember the last time he had called her that. When she didn't answer, Yamcha continued.

"Over the last month I must have called you at least fifty times. You never call me back," he said. "And if you do pick up, it's only to tell me that you're too busy to talk. To be honest, I was surprised you answered the phone today."

"I'm sorry Yamcha, it's just…."

"I don't want you to be sorry Bulma," Yamcha interrupted, walking towards a window and looking out of it. "I want you to be as committed to this relationship as I am."

Bulma froze. What was going on here?

"I _am_ committed to this relationship, Yamcha! But that doesn't mean that I have to be on-call every time you need to talk!"

"We used to talk every day." Yamcha glared fixedly at her. "Until _he_ moved in."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Bulma stated firmly, "That has absolutely _nothing_ to do with anything and you know it. There are _Androids_ coming in two and a half years!"

"And what if something goes wrong? I can't spend the next two and a half years of my life wondering where our relationship is going!" Yamcha tilted his head back. "You can use the Androids as an excuse, but we both know that's not the reason we're having this conversation."

Bulma tilted her head to the side, daring him to continue arguing with her. "Then what is it Yamcha?"

His dark eyes pierced hers. "It's because of Vegeta and you know it."

Bulma shook her head. "I've been busy and that's all there is to it, Yamcha. Vegeta and I haven't spoken in three weeks," she added.

Yamcha looked startled at the admission, but it did nothing to cool his temper. In fact, he looked more perturbed.

"Neither have we."

She had not realized that. Yamcha, who was also not a mind reader, seemed to understand this.

"Figures," he muttered.

Yamcha walked over to the couch and sat down. He put his legs out. "Why are you so busy anyway?"

Bulma walked over to the window where he had been standing and looked out of it as well. It was bright and sunny, a deceiving appearance for a cool day in December.

"The usual. Working in the lab."

"Doing what?"

His relentless questioning was really starting to irk her. Bulma turned on him, hands on hips.

"If you _must_ know, I've been making training droids for Vegeta."

"So the guy ignores you and you become his personal servant?" her boyfriend asked edgily. "Maybe I should ignore you too, then you might actually pay attention to me."

"Yamcha!"

He stood up angrily. "Just forget it! I don't even know why I bothered to come over."

Bulma blocked the front door so that he couldn't leave. "You are _not_ leaving until we finish talking so go back into the living room and SIT DOWN!"

Yamcha backed up at her loud voice, looking terrified. But he did as he was told and sat.

"Good," Bulma said to him, standing in the middle of the room. "Now let's get one thing straight. I am _not_ Vegeta's personal servant."

Yamcha gave her a look that said he believed otherwise.

"Secondly, it's not fair of you to expect me to be available all the time. I have a life Yamcha and it does _not_ revolve around you _or_ Vegeta!"

She stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I'm sorry that I haven't been around lately, but whether you like it or not, I _have_ to help Vegeta. He's just as important to this fight as you and Goku, understand?"

Yamcha dropped his shoulders and did not reply.

"I know that you don't like him but… he's alone here. And he needs someone to be nice to him every once in awhile."

"Be _nice_ to him?" exclaimed Yamcha, his eyes widened. "The guy… the guy _killed_ me Bulma! And he's killed before! He's killed women and children and _me_!"

"People change. _You_ changed!" Bulma charged, pointing a finger in his direction.

"I never killed anyone before!" the young man argued. "And I need just as much help as Vegeta and you don't make _me_ training droids!"

And even though she hated to admit it, he was right. In fact, before that moment it had never even crossed her mind.

"Well… well why should I?" she faltered. "You have a sparring partner and you don't use a Gravity Room! Vegeta trains by himself!"

"Only because he's too arrogant and full of himself to train with anyone else!" Yamcha explained loudly. "You're basically rewarding him for being an uptight jackass!"

When Bulma couldn't think of a clever comeback, Yamcha stood up from the sofa with a triumphant look in his eyes. It was the first fight he had ever won against her.

"You know that I'm right B."

He grabbed his coat and began to button it up. "And until you realize that, you're going to be seeing a lot less of me around here."

They stared at one another for a moment and then Yamcha walked towards the front door. With no uncertainty present in his demeanor, Yamcha forcefully pulled the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

Bulma listened as the motor of his car rumbled, waited for the screech of tires as Yamcha briskly pulled out of the driveway, away from Capsule Corp.

And away from her.


	12. Well Enough Alone

_A/N_: OH snap. The inauguration happened. School happened again. I'm settled into classes. I've finally bought books. I've finally gotten into a routine. So- know what that means? MORE STORY! Sorry about the delay! Forgive me by reviewing the latest chapter!

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't really own the title, Chevelle does. But then again, if I have to put a disclaimer on the way a few words are put together in a sentence, then I guess I don't really own the story either. Ooh... was that the wind, cause I just blew my MIND.

* * *

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

The pieces of blue hair littered the porcelain sink.

Bulma held the tiny metal scissors above her, resting her elbows on her head.

"What did you do?"

His voice did not startle her as perhaps he had hoped. Bulma, who had not bothered to lock or close the bathroom door, had sensed Vegeta's presence long ago.

"What does it look like I've done, Vegeta?" she answered shortly, not in the mood for his ignorance of earth women, his ignorance of short hair, and certainly not his ignorance of her sudden, unprovoked temper.

His reflection in the mirror showed narrow brown eyes, a scowl.

"You've finally _done something_ about the hideous haircut of yours." The Saiyan curled his upper lip. "It's about time."

Bulma mirrored his scowl and gripped the scissors in her left hand so tight that her fingers turned white. She was unsure if he was complimenting or mocking her. Because it was typically the latter, the young woman decided not to answer.

_Snip._

"What is this?"

Bulma turned from her reflection and into the face of the man whom she had not seen in weeks. Vegeta was holding a bright pink bottle upon which the words 'Herbal Essences' had been scrawled. She made a mental note to add 'shampoo' to her list of items Vegeta was unaware of.

"Don't you use shampoo?" she asked dully, cutting another strand of hair so that it was even with the others.

"Of course I use shampoo, woman!" Vegeta said loudly, sounding very insulted that she had asked. "But this isn't shampoo! It's pink… and…"

He stopped mid-sentence, his nose wrinkling. Bulma prepared herself for a rude remark, but was surprised when not only did Vegeta remain silent, but stepped directly behind her, grabbed a large handful of hair, and sniffed.

His nose touched her tender scalp and his warm breath tickled the back of her neck. Bulma stood completely still, permitting him to do whatever the hell he was doing since she had no idea just what that was.

"V-Vegeta?"

He backed away from her, his nose still wrinkled and his brow creased. "Blasted earthlings. You smell like food."

Bulma turned her head only slightly so that he could see a portion of her profile. "It's strawberry."

He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. He did not respond.

She waited a few moments before returning to her haircut.

_Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip._

What if she shaved the sides of her head, wore a Mohawk?

"How long is this going to take?"

Bulma took a small comb and ran it through her hair. "I don't know Vegeta."

"I'm hungry."

"Ask my mother to make you something."

"Woman…" he started, but Bulma interrupted.

"_Man_," she cut in forcefully, slamming the comb down on the sink. "You've been avoiding me for weeks and now you're asking me to do something for you?"

Silence. Typical.

"I have my own problems right now, and not all of them concern whether or not you've had something to eat in the last fifteen minutes!"

Bulma tried to steady herself. She wasn't really angry with Vegeta. She was angry with Yamcha. Angry with herself. It wasn't fair to take it out on the unsuspecting Saiyan behind her.

"Just forget it Vegeta."

And she looked at him through the mirror, expecting his usual scowl. Instead, his face was deadpan, his eyes boring through hers as though he were telepathically sending her a message.

He stared at her for a few more seconds, turned and walked off.

* * *

Why had he gone to see her?

Vegeta closed the refrigerator door and stared at the bottled water he now held in his right hand. It was freezing cold.

In the living room he could hear the television and sounds of people cheering. The woman's mother was watching an obnoxious game show. He supposed then that asking her to fix him something wouldn't be unreasonable, not that he had ever cared if any of his requests were unreasonable.

Perhaps that was why he had stupidly asked the woman to fix him something edible. As though she could.

It had been twenty-seven days since he had spoken with her. Twenty-seven days of nerve-wracking peace. Twenty-seven days of training with no interruptions. Twenty-seven days without arguments and insolence! Six hundred and thirty five hours without the blue-haired wench breathing down his neck.

Thirty-eight thousand and seventy seconds of freedom.

Vegeta glared as he entered the living room, his dirty boots scuffing the wood floor. The woman's mother was sitting on the couch, gleefully shouting letters at the television screen. She grinned when she saw him.

"Oh, Vegeta! You look so exhausted! Oh, dear! Would you like a massage?"

His left eye habitually twitched.

"Bring me something to eat," he ordered loftily, quite used to her obedience.

The blond stood up and her eyes squinted as she smiled. "Of course Vegeta. It'll be ready in a few moments! What would you like honey?"

Vegeta stared at her as if she were a mindless fool, unworthy of an answer. "FOOD," he emphasized firmly.

She pinched his arm affectionately as she walked past. "Of course! How silly of me to ask!"

Damn them! How much more of these humans could he take? Treating him nicely, without reserve. Vegeta needed to fight, to verbally abuse, to engage in a battle of fucking wits! He had not exercised his mind in twenty-seven days!

_That_ was why he had gone to see her.

He opened the top of the water bottle and drank. The icy water froze his throat.

He had gone to see her because he wanted to provoke an argument. Not because he thought of her constantly. Not because he had almost forgotten how her voice sounded when it echoed through his head. Not because she was the only human he halfway tolerated. Not because he missed her presence, though he could feel her around him, even when she was not there.

Never.

* * *

It had been dark for hours. The stars were glazed over by thin gray clouds making their way across the night sky. There was hardly any wind, only the cold chill of the air around her as Bulma slowly, carefully made her way across the backyard.

_Just a few more steps and I'm clear!_

Bulma looked behind her at the Capsule Corp. mansion. Inside every light was off, which meant that everyone, even Vegeta, was asleep.

When she had made it clear across the yard, Bulma stopped near the large tree that Yamcha's head had irreparably dented. She pressed her back against it, lifted her knee to her chest and reached into her sneaker.

A slim white cigarette fell into her fingers.

She sighed happily.

Bulma pulled out a lighter from her coat pocket and placed the cigarette in her mouth. Cupping her hands around it, she lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

The smoke instantly filled her throat and chest. Bulma, who had not enjoyed this pastime in awhile, was not used to it and began to cough. Tears gathered in her eyes and she beat her chest to stop the coughing. If her mother awoke and saw her smoking, she would never hear the end of it.

"Ah!" Bulma struggled to push air into her lungs and to expel the smoke of the cigarette. She coughed again.

She took another long puff. Practice made perfect, didn't it?

More uncontrollable fits of coughing.

"Come on… g-girl," she chided herself between coughs. "You can… you can do it!"

Leave it to her to challenge herself to smoke.

Using a shaky hand, Bulma placed the cigarette back into her mouth and drew in another breath. This time, the smoke went down easy, warming her mouth.

Oh Kami this was wonderful. All she had been asking for really. Just a nice cigarette and a place in which to enjoy it.

For the next eight minutes, Bulma smoked a cigarette. And then, once she had begun to settle the nerves caused by the stress of the past few weeks, she began to think.

When was she going to call Yamcha to apologize? Tomorrow would mark an entire week of his silent treatment.

When would she give Vegeta his training bot? He had come to her, hadn't he? Maybe he really hadn't been avoiding her.

Was this going to be her last cigarette?

Bulma answered that question first as she reached back into her sneaker and grabbed another one.

As she used her left hand to smoke, Bulma used her right one to ruffle her new hair.

It was so strange a feeling. To be able to run her fingers through her hair again. She had had that curly perm for so long she had almost forgotten her natural texture. Thin, straight, limp?

"Maybe I'll cut bangs across my forehead," she said to no one in particular. "Yeah, that'll be different."

_Puff_.

She smiled. Her stylist would flip when he saw what she had done. Bulma had never cut her own hair before. But she had needed something new. A new look to accompany her new approach to life, because dammit, after the events of the last week, she needed one.

Yamcha had been right. Bulma spent too much time worrying about Vegeta. Too much time worrying about Yamcha as well. She probably even spent more time than necessary worrying about the Androids, and the end of the world.

What was the point in worrying anymore?

As far as Bulma was concerned, there was nothing that mattered. Nothing.

Except the feel of the cigarette burning her lips, the smoke caressing the back of her tongue before it settled like warm air in her stomach, making her lightheaded with pleasure.

So badass.


	13. With Her Back Against The Wall

_A/N:_ Don't shoot me! It's up! It's up!

**Disclaimer**: I own this cute digital clock that read '5:23' when I started, and now reads '8:50'. Uh... so much for homework!

* * *

The lab was empty. Bulma turned the droid over in her hands for the fiftieth time. She had yet to give to Vegeta, even though her father had been pestering her about it for the last few days.

Almost as much as he had been pestering her about her revived smoking. It really made no sense to the young woman at all, especially since the doctor smoked three times as much as she did.

_Beep_.

"Bulma?"

Overhead a giant plasma screen descended from the ceiling. Her father's blue eyes, giant from his glasses, stared down at her.

"Are you almost finished dear?"

Bulma stuck her thumb in the air and made a face that could not be mistaken for anything but unpleasant. "Nothing left to do now except interrupt Vegeta."

Her father should have been weary of this information, considering how temperamental the Saiyan became whenever someone dared to 'interrupt his training regime'. Unfortunately for Bulma, who had no desire to see Vegeta whatsoever, Dr. Briefs grinned instead.

"That's fantastic! Let me know how it goes!"

The screen zipped to black and disappeared into the ceiling.

"I'm going to miss you," Bulma said as she pressed the bot close to her chest and nuzzled it with her cheek. "You've kept me sane."

Almost as sane as those fresh, unopened packs of cigarettes in her top drawer did. Bulma forced herself to snap out of it. Her cravings had been getting a lot worse lately. It was unlikely she would ever quit smoking again if she could help it.

Still holding Vegeta's 'present', Bulma exited the lab and made her way to the spacious backyard. The humming she heard immediately upon setting foot on the grass confirmed that Vegeta was inside of the Gravity Room. She encapsulated the droid and began her usual routine in order to gain entry.

"VEGETA!"

_BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG._

Bulma pounded furiously on the door. She didn't even bother knocking anymore. There were only two ways to get inside the GR: blowing it up, or irritating Vegeta.

"LET ME IN RIGHT NOW!"

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

Just as she was about to spew an entire string of curse words, the door began to lower. Marching up the steps that unfolded in front of her, Bulma entered the chamber.

Vegeta was standing to the side, leaning against one of the small windows, his arms folded stiffly across his naked chest. He did not look pleased to see her.

Bulma walked nearer to him and pulled out the tiny silver capsule. She too did not smile.

"Well? Do you want it or not?"

He scowled. "I don't have time for your silly antics, woman. If you aren't going to show it to me then you may as well leave."

Taken back by his shortness with her, Bulma thought about doing just that. She had been having a lot less patience with him lately. If he wasn't going to be grateful, what was the point in breaking her back to provide him with equipment he'd destroy anyway?

_No point at all really_, thought Bulma, looking around. _He probably doesn't even use it._

Come to think of it, with the white fluorescent lighting beaming in from every inch of the ceiling, it didn't even look as though he had been training at all.

She ran a hand through her hair, taking everything in. "Jeez Vegeta, what have you been doing in here all day, huh? Reading?"

Vegeta's cool demeanor instantly changed. He became visibly irritated. "It's none of your business what I do in here. Now are you going to show me what you have or aren't you?"

"Take it easy, alright?" Bulma dropped the capsule on the ground. "Oh, and don't thank me or anything. I'm trying to live past forty and appreciation at this point might give me a heart attack."

A small puff of gray smoke enveloped the two briefly. When it had cleared, the highly polished droid that Bulma and her father had built stood between the two of them. It shone like crystal in the overhead light and Bulma, who had seen her work so many times before, was overcome by how amazing she was.

"Will you get a look at this thing?" she asked, reaching down and patting it on its head as though it were a pet. "The craftsmanship is unbelievable."

Vegeta said nothing.

Bulma stood up and placed both her hands on her hips. "_Well_? What do you think, Vegeta? It's not like I spent three weeks making this for _myself_!"

At that, Vegeta seemed to finally come to life. He stood straight and without asking first, snatched away the droid. His eyes inspected every inch of the machine.

"It's suitable."

As though she had expected to hear anything more. Growling through clenched teeth, Bulma struggled to keep her temper.

"It's better than suitable. That bot can withstand 500g… which is more than I can say for _somebody_…."

The meaning of that sentence went undisguised. Vegeta scowled at her, the muscles in his face tightening as he too seemed to struggle with his temper.

She gave him her smuggest look. "Besides, I don't know what's so difficult about 500g _anyway_. Shouldn't that be easy for the great Prince of all Saiyans?"

"Well, we'll just have to see about that. Won't we?"

Bulma, who hadn't expected the silent Vegeta to reply, lifted her nose in the air. "Oh yeah? How? By blowing up the Gravity Room again? Because if _that's_ what you mean, then I suppose you're right. We _will_ see." She began to walk near the exit. She never made it.

In the time it had taken her to lift one foot, Vegeta had walked towards the middle of the room where a metal pole stood. He pressed a single button on its outer control panel and a surprised Bulma nearly crashed to the ground.

"That's 2g."

Bulma put a hand up to stop the smirking prince right as his index pressed another button.

She slammed into the ground.

"And that's 5g."

The young scientist tried to lift her head from the white tiling, but was unable to. For that matter, she was hardly able to breathe, the pressure was crushing her. "Ass…asshole…" she struggled to get out.

She heard her captor's white training boots walking across the floor. Then she saw them, vaguely, as she desperately managed to keep her eyelids open.

"Which is?"

Bulma tried to sit up, to show Vegeta that she wasn't weak. Yet she wasn't able to lift a finger. Her body was beginning to become one with the floor.

"5 times earth's gravity," Vegeta answered for her, sounding as if he thought the entire situation was amusing. He walked out of Bulma's vision and a few seconds later, all the pressure was lifted from the woman's body.

Bulma stood up shakily, feeling dizzy and sore. She rubbed her head, hoping the headache she had would go away so that the shouting she was about to do would not increase the pain.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, VEGETA? YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!" she yelled at him as he took a casual lean against the control panel.

Disoriented and slightly woozy, Bulma did not hear his remark. Instead she lunged for what her blurry eyesight assumed was him.

* * *

Nails out she came for him, like that damned cat the old man refused to put down.

"Get off of me!" was the only phrase he could get out before one of her nails attached itself to his eyelid and pulled down. A small drop of blood rolled onto his eyelash and into his vision.

Had this pathetically weak woman made him bleed?

Perhaps by habit, or by a Saiyan nature he had long since lost control to, Vegeta seized both of her arms in his and slammed her against the chamber wall. And in that moment, as she kicked and flailed against him, screamed and shouted obscenities at him, he wanted nothing more than to take her right there, to do exactly what he had been thinking about doing since he had first spotted her.

The primal urge within him was so strong that for an instant he feared he would do exactly that, with or _without_ the woman's approval. In that moment he released her, though one of his hands remained firmly, if not steadily, at her throat.

"_Never_," he said as he glared into her blue eyes, "_strike me again_."

Her arms bare beneath her torn lab coat, Bulma returned the glare. "You deserved it, you dumb jerk!" She struggled vainly in his grip. "Let me go Vegeta!"

_I'm trying to, you idiot woman!_

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, barring his teeth. How could he preserve his forbidding demeanor when even his own thoughts had mutinied against him? He could hardly stand to look at her.

"Vegeta? Are you okay?"

He mistakenly looked into her eyes, permitting himself to be drawn in, however fleetingly. He could see his reflection, the same as it had always been; no possible means to determine the chaos running through his head.

"I'm fine," he snapped, unsure how her mood could change so quickly. She was the strangest person he had ever encountered by all means. "Stop asking me questions."

And damn him! When she began to shout at him again he could not focus his attention. He could not hear what he could only assume were profanities, only see the bright red of her lipstick stained mouth, the minute flaring of her nostrils, tiny, curled eyelashes standing straight…

"…SELF-CENTERED ASS! ALL I EVER TRY TO DO IS HELP YOU AND-"

Her hair was tangled and swept to one side, covering one of her cheeks, which showed the pink imprint of a tile. He could have her if he wanted to… grab her hair in his hands, crush her cheeks with his fingers….

"AND FURTHERMORE!"

She should have been a Saiyan, Vegeta acknowledged. Conceivably he would feel less ignominy, less disgust with himself for his clear penchant for the earthling woman who was now trying to bite him.

"ENOUGH!"

This time it was Vegeta whose voice had risen. Looking slightly fearful, Bulma made no noise except that of her shoe scuffing the wall as she tried to back away unsuccessfully.

His chest expanded unnaturally and he realized he was finished trying to fight. He was the Prince. His actions were of no consequence. The stupid woman meant nothing to him. So be it.

"V-Vegeta?"

He finally dropped his right arm, let her go. He had to, for his own sake.

One of her hands found its way to his chest, her fingers traveling in a straight line up the ridges in his shirt. An odd behavior that Vegeta chose not to respond to.

"I wish you'd just tell me what the hell is wrong with you instead of making me guess all the damned time," said the woman with a hint of impatience. "I mean, _come_ _on_. This tough guy routine is _so_ played out."

He scowled at her. "What are you talking about, woman?"

"_That_ is what I'm talking about." She crossed her arms against her chest. "You avoiding every thing. I haven't seen you in days. And before that it was weeks!"

"I have training to do," was his short reply. "You're a distraction. Easily disposable, but a distraction nonetheless."

She raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "And you're an egotistical bastard but that doesn't stop _me_."

He growled. "Obviously."

The woman began to look irritated. "If you don't want my help Vegeta," she began but he cut her off.

"I don't."

"-_Then_," she continued as though he had not interrupted, "I'm not going to waste my time here."

* * *

Bulma stood near the entrance/exit, one hand balled in a fist placed firmly at her hip. "This is your last chance Vegeta."

He arched his brow.

"I'm leaving!" she threatened loudly. She pointed her free hand towards the doorway. "I'm going down those steps and not coming back!"

He turned from her.

"Good."

"I'm telling you Vegeta! Once I'm gone I'm not coming back!"

She waited for a response. When after ten seconds there was no response, Bulma pressed the door release button. She was on the first step when he finally replied.

"Wait."

Bulma turned instantaneously, feeling her neck crack. "Yes?" she asked breathlessly.

"Bring me something to eat."

When she stood there, taken back as her mouth dropped open, Vegeta looked at her expectantly.

"Would you like some help, woman?"

Before Bulma could respond, Vegeta had outstretched a hand and attached it to her back. She turned around and grabbed the hand, accidentally tripping over herself in her haste and falling into Vegeta.

"Stupid woman," she heard him mutter as she gathered herself.

"Asshole," Bulma retorted for the umpteenth time that hour.

And as she pulled herself to her feet, she looked upwards into his face. He was looking back at her, his brow furrowed. Something flittered in her stomach.

Bulma stared at him.

"Your eyes…" she said quietly, "they're brown."

Vegeta's upper lip curled with the news. "Of course they are."

That wasn't the only thing she had noticed. His bottom lip was fuller than his upper lip. And though she made it a point to ridicule his height when they argued, when she was this close to him, he was definitely taller than her. And his bottom lip was so much fuller….

For a moment Bulma found it difficult to pull it together. How could it be that a moment ago she had wanted to strangle Vegeta, and now was entertaining the idea of letting go of all resolve?

_It would be nice to kiss him_.

Bulma chuckled softly.

_If he wouldn't kill me for it_.

He wouldn't hurt a hair on her head, though the slam into the wall earlier was certainly going to leave bruises. Bulma had no doubt that Vegeta had some sort of tolerance for her. After all, she was alive.

She swept her eyes over him. Over his cocked head. His pounding chest. His lean torso, covered by clothing she wished were not there. She swept over his clenched hands, long fingers tightened into a ball, pressing into his palms.

Oh Kami. That _bottom_ lip.

If all else fails… fuck it.

Bulma was never just all talk. She reached for his neck and pulled his head down forcefully, not caring that he may reject or resist. She pressed her mouth on his so hard that her lips instantly swelled, became sore.

Vegeta wasn't kissing her back and both of his arms had risen at his side awkwardly, almost as though he were about to push her away from him. Bulma parted her lips enough to place his bottom one between her teeth. He was so warm, so soft….

The arms folded slowly around her, pulling her so close to him she could feel his heartbeat drumming loudly in his chest, almost in sync with her own.

His lips finally responded, a low guttural sound escaping his throat. Bulma could tell, in that instant, that he had wanted this too. It only made her more sure of her actions, as scary and spontaneous as they were. Vegeta too seemed far more secure and there was no hesitance as he used his hands to grab at her waist, her thighs, her arms.

Who would've thought he was such a good kisser? Much better than her dreams. She would never sleep again.

"Vegeta," Bulma breathed, tilting her head so that he dove at her neck. "The d-door…."

Without pause, he outstretched an arm and punched the door close button. As the stairs began to ascend, Bulma pulled away, gasping for air.

"Vegeta… let's go to my room…." She tried to say between hot kisses.

"No," he said firmly, not taking his lips from her skin. "… Here."


	14. Rehashed Impulse

A/N: It's up! It's finally up! I hope the chapter fits together nicely. I was at such a loss for this one that I actually wrote it in pieces. It was a hard chapter to write. On that note, an update will definitely _never_ take that long again. Especially since in one month the end of the semester will be here! I'm so happy I could cry. I think I will. I am crying.

DISCLAIMER: I own the souls of anyone who has ever reviewed.

* * *

**Annoying Narrator: **Last time, on Dragonball Z! ...

_Who would've thought he was such a good kisser? Much better than her dreams. She would never sleep again._

_"Vegeta," Bulma breathed, tilting her head so that he dove at her neck. "The d-door…."_

_Without pause, he outstretched an arm and punched the door close button. As the stairs began to ascend, Bulma pulled away, gasping for air._

_"Vegeta… let's go to my room…." She tried to say between hot kisses._

_"No," he said firmly, not taking his lips from her skin. "… Here." _

* * *

He was really going to go through with this, wasn't he?

Vegeta was pulling at her clothes, ripping them really, and throwing loose articles to the side of the training room, pressing his lips on each inch of her skin as it was exposed to him.

Pale.

Soft.

His.

For now anyway. While she was entertaining.

"Vegeta," Bulma groaned as he buried his face in her neck, lingering there to bite her flesh.

The way she said his name caused him a split second hesitance in his administrations. Why had he bothered to wait so long for this?

_Curse this attitude of mine! _Vegeta thought bitterly, tearing off the blue-haired woman's bra in one swift movement of his hand. It went sailing across the room and hit the wall. A pair of white underwear followed suit, as well as two perfectly shiny white training boots.

Vegeta positioned himself over top of her, allowing his eyes to travel up and down the slim, creamy body underneath him. He curled his upper lip out of habit. There was no doubt about it. Bulma Brief would be the most beautiful out of them all.

If they ever even started.

"Open your legs woman," he ordered, feeling extremely impatient now that she was completely undressed.

Bulma scrunched her face and sat up instantly. "I _know_ what to do Vegeta!" She narrowed her eyes. "I've done this before _okay_?"

And for some reason, her statement bothered him. He realized then that he did not wish to think of the woman with that inferior pseudo warrior. Not when she could have him, Vegeta… a First Class Elite.

He chose to give her a physical response, rather than the angry verbal one she had probably expected. Vegeta grabbed her legs, bent them upwards and spread them apart forcefully.

She was breathing hard, staring up at him with large blue eyes. Anticipating his next move.

To know that this woman desired him, had probably desired him for some while now... it was almost too much for the alien prince to fathom. He wanted her to enjoy him, to want him, to need him.

Vegeta locked his eyes with hers. Instantly something exploded within him and he knew, though he certainly did not care to admit it, that this was going to be different.

She was going to be different than the others and he wasn't sure why.

_I can't keep thinking like this!_

He took the plunge, quickly, erasing cursed thought. Underneath him the woman called his name, dug sharp nails into his arms as she pulled him into her.

He clasped her naked body to his. He wanted to feel her around him. On him. He wanted, as long as he could, to merely _have_ her.

"Don't… don't stop…."

He didn't.

Vegeta prepared himself.

Prepared himself for the undeniable frustration he would feel once this moment had gone.

Prepared himself for untold consequences.

Prepared himself for the most enjoyable workout he would experience during his bothersome stay on Earth.

* * *

Bulma woke up on a hard surface. Her cheeks felt as though they had been molded into a completely different shape. Groggily she allowed her eyes to adjust to the bright light.

Why was she laying on the Gravity Room floor?

Not bothering to rise, the young woman merely placed a hand under her head to make her rest more comfortable. She yawned and closed her eyes, a dark haven that protected her from such harsh luminosity.

Wait… why the _fuck_ was she on the Gravity Room floor?

Alert and a bit distressed, Bulma ventured to look around. Near her face lay a pair of blue sweat pants. Hers. A pair of black ones.

His.

And _now_ she could remember why she was laying on the ground.

The scientist sat up so quick that her neck cracked. Next to her lay Vegeta, facing the opposite direction, in shorts and a white undershirt.

He must have been asleep. He hadn't stirred once she had looked over. Usually just blinking in his direction could cause the Saiyan to attempt an assault.

_What have I done?_

And as she thought that horrible thought, a generous smile began to unravel upon her face.

She had done what she had wanted to do from the very beginning. No more and certainly no less.

Bulma sighed pleasantly, sat with her legs crossed and contemplated getting dressed again. The Gravity Room was hot and sticky though, and she really had no desire to feel the soft constraints of fabric around her bare body. In fact, she had no desire to do anything whatsoever, save lay on the Gravity Room floor with her perfectly sculpted Saiyan Prince.

A sound like a bee buzzing rippled quietly through the air. Bulma turned her head to see where it was coming from. Leaning forward, she began to rifle through various undergarments. Her phone, tiny and silver, blinked green.

Her father was calling.

"Uh, h-hello? Dad?"

"Hi sweetheart! I couldn't find you around the compound to ask how it went with Vegeta earlier."

Bulma's heart nearly leapt from her chest at his statement. "What are you talking about?"

Her father's tone seemed very confused. "I meant when you took the droid over to him, Bulma. Did he seem to like it? He's hard to read."

_He sure is_.

"Everything went really well dad," Bulma replied, trying to sound offhand and wondering if her father could see right through her façade. "He even said thanks."

"Well that's splendid! And to think I've been pacing in my office for no reason!" Her father paused briefly. "Are you alright dear? You sound exhausted."

Even though her father could not possibly have known what had transpired in the last hour and a half, she blushed ridiculously. "I haven't been up to much actually," she lied. "You know, the usual."

Her father obviously didn't go to the trouble of decoding just what 'the usual' was. If he had, he probably would have suspected something immediately. Nothing Bulma did was ever usual.

Especially when it came to sleeping with an alien bent on destroying Earth.

"I'll let you go dear," her father spoke into the phone, sounding slightly hurried, "I just activated a bot and it's… and it's destroying my office as we speak."

Bulma heard her father shout something in the background and made her goodbye quickly. She placed the phone back on the ground, glad to have dodged a bullet. What if her father had gone looking for her? He surely would have checked the Gravity Room… and what then?

She gave a sigh of relief and turned her sights back to Vegeta's still form. She chuckled.

"Better than Yamcha!"

"Of course I am woman."

His deep voice scared her and Bulma's entire body tensed up at the mere sound of it.

Vegeta lay just as still as before.

"Get out."

Rolling her eyes, Bulma lay back down next to him, grabbed one of his shoulders and turned him over so that he was facing the ceiling. She lay her head on his chest.

"You heard me woman. Leave."

"No," Bulma said airily, lightly tracing his skin with her finger so that chill bumps appeared.

"I want to do it again."

* * *

Sorer than she had ever been in her life, Bulma had taken it upon herself to dress and leave Vegeta's presence. She walked as well as she could, but it was more difficult than she would have liked to divulge. She had never been so sure of something in her entire life.

Vegeta was an animal.

The way he ravaged her, took her, grabbed and ruined whatever innocence she had left… it was maddening. _He_ was maddening.

She already wanted him again.

A part of her warned her that what she had done had already caused a series of events that could deconstruct the perfect life she had imagined for herself. What if she began to feel for Vegeta in the same way she had once felt for Yamcha? What if this happened again? How could she say no to him when she had said yes so many times before? What kind of power could she ever have over Vegeta if she handed to him exactly what he wanted from her when he asked for it? _Would_ he ask for it?

The questions were agony! Bulma ran a shaky hand through her hair and walked into the front door of Capsule Corp. Her mother was standing in the doorway, putting on her coat.

"Hi there Bulma!" she said in greeting. "It sure is windy today isn't it?"

Bulma, who was in no mood for small talk, nodded her head and kept ahead.

"Oh, and Bulma?"

She turned and raised her eyebrows.

"What is it mom? I'm kinda in a hurry. I need to take a shower and help dad in the lab. One of his robots is going haywire-"

"-Oh then don't mind me! I just wandered where you had been all day!"

That grin on her mother's face, she couldn't gather it's significance or why it had made her so damned uneasy. Bulma smiled casually and waved her hand in the air.

"I haven't really been anywhere… I just needed some time to myself today."

Her mother's smile grew. "I could use a little time to myself with Vegeta too!"

As her mother giggled delightfully, like a school girl who had just discovered the juiciest secret and intended to tell it to whomever would listen, Bulma's insides began to melt one by one. Her knees almost sank beneath her.

"What are you talking about mom?"

"Your father sent me to look for you earlier," her mother replied, placing her hand on the front doorknob and pulling it open. "I stopped by the Gravity Room."

Smile.

"Really?" asked a calm, cool, and collected young woman.

_Kill me_. _If she saw anything at all I want to die. Here. On this very spot._

Her mother frowned a little and squinted. "I was going to bring you two some food -it's so nice that you two are talking!- but I couldn't get the door open. It's a shame too! I think you could have used some extra help in there dear! Talking to Vegeta can be very taxing you know!"

She could have fainted from her reprieve. Placing a hand over her chest to steady her breathing, Bulma managed a real smile.

"It's alright mom. I think I've finally made some headway with Vegeta."

If only they knew how very true that was.


	15. The Expiration Date

**A/N**: Thanks for all the reviews and e-mails! I hope you enjoy this next chapter! I am officially out of school for the summer [sort of] and all of my finals are finished. Hopefully the next thing I finish will be this story! Thanks for sticking through it you guys!

**DISCLAIMER**: YOU guys own.

* * *

"...and with the Pos-T-Vac I was able to completely fulfill my wife..."

The television had been on for some time now. He had seen talk-show after talk-show, had watched commercial after commercial, had seen every inning of every damn baseball game.

He had even seen her.

"In other news, Bulma Brief was spotted just outside of West City Shopping Center carrying dozens of shopping bags!" a newswoman excitedly remarked from the screen. "To ward off reporters and other media, shopping mall security guards were forced to close the mall for approximately three and a half hours, while the wealthy scientist went on a shopping spree!"

An amateur video that had recorded the incident flashed on the television. Bulma Brief in giant white sunglasses carried nearly a dozen shopping bags. Her smile dazzled brighter than the glare from the flashing cameras of the paparazzi.

The man narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he leaned back in his battered recliner.

How could it be that she was all he had thought about for _days_? How could it be that he had barely moved from his chair? How could it be that while he, Yamcha, sulked and mourned her loss… she was able to look so happy?

Bulma had forgotten about him.

He crushed the can of soda in his hands, forgetting the grape contents inside and splashing his white tank top.

"Here's a towel Yamcha!"

The tired young man looked up to see his only friend, Puar, holding a small dishtowel in her paws.

"Thanks Puar," he said in a disgruntled voice, though he didn't mean to project his anger at her.

"Can I get you something to eat?" she asked him, her eyes wide and concerned. "That soda won't tide you over for very long."

In vain Yamcha rubbed at the stubborn grape stain. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "I'm not that hungry."

"You have to eat Yamcha.'

Yamcha looked at Puar sideways.

"I don't _have_ to do anything."

That much was certainly true. In his present state of mind, feeling hurt and unwanted, Yamcha hadn't desired anything but time alone and permission to brood.

Moping around the house definitely didn't erase the memory of that fateful day he had left his girlfriend standing in the front hall, and it hadn't erased the memory of his girlfriend. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to forget that he had ever met her. Any good moment they had ever shared had been overshadowed by the very fact that she had left him here.

Alone.

She had really shown him hadn't she? Yamcha had had one plan and one plan only.

To make Bulma see how much she would miss him once he was gone.

"She hasn't called has she?" Yamcha asked Puar, who was floating somewhere near the back of his head.

"Not yet, no," Puar said in a voice Yamcha knew well. Puar pitied him.

"I thought she might," Yamcha said, as it finally began to dawn on him that he was going to spend the rest of his days without female companionship. "I thought I meant enough that she would come chasing after me."

Puar rested on top of his messy hair. Yamcha had not cut it or bothered to do much with himself ever since the "Bulma Incident".

"Bulma's a very busy girl!" Puar said with some enthusiasm. "I'm sure she'll call any day now!"

Yamcha sighed and turned the channel once the video of Bulma began to play again. "No use lying to me Puar. I think we both know that ship has sailed."

Puar was quiet.

* * *

Dr. Brief handed his daughter the defeated robot.

Holding it in her hands, Bulma took a moment to survey his office.

"Dad," she said with a barely concealed smile, "this office is… uh, well…" She laughed. "It could use some maintenance."

The bot had, as her father had told her earlier, really gone crazy. It had thrown itself against walls, cracked his desk, picture frames and knocked over entire bookcases.

The older man smiled. "I was thinking of tearing this place apart soon anyway. Give me something to do since Vegeta's been behaving himself concerning the Gravity Room. Haven't had to make repairs on it in awhile."

He looked a little nervous, Bulma noted.

"Have you stopped by the GR lately to see its condition?"

Her heart froze in her chest again. Did her parents know something that she didn't?

"Why would you ask me that?" Bulma asked, fiddling with the bot in her shaky hands.

Her father raised his bushy eyebrows. "I haven't been by to see it, that's all. Hoped that you had." Her father smiled.

"Want to help me straighten up this mess? Should take a week by the looks of it."

Bulma returned the smile. "We could get the employees to do it instead dad. That's the corporate way."

She set the bot down on his broken desk.

"I'm going shopping!"

* * *

Vegeta had only been on the main grounds for ten minutes when he heard the doorbell ring.

Without bothering to remove his spiky haired head from the refrigerator, he shouted, "_Somebody get that!" _

It rang twice more before he became irritated.

Wiping away a milk moustache, Vegeta glared at the empty spaces around him. Where the hell were the servants to answer the pesky door?

_Ding-Dong!_

"WOMAN! ANSWER THE DOOR!"

Nothing. Quickly Vegeta searched her ki.

Gone.

As was the old man's and his wife's.

"Damn humans," he muttered as he went to the front hall.

And as he opened the door, there in front of him stood the damndest of them all.

"Move it Vegeta," Yamcha said, pushing past the Saiyan and entering the mansion. "Where's Bulma?"

Snarling, Vegeta walked by him, refusing to answer. Normally he would have thrown the sniveling bandit out, or given him a physical response, but today he was in no mood. He had missed out on his training and had no desire to prolong it any further.

"Hey! Vegeta!"

The latter, en route to the kitchen once more, stopped walking and turned his head.

"I asked you where Bulma was!"

Yamcha folded his arms across his chest and raised his brow, anticipating Vegeta's response.

The Saiyan squinted at the man's audacity, trying to determine if he was being challenged. A further inspection revealed the opposite. Yamcha had long tussled hair, puffy eyes, dirty clothes, and smelled as though he had yet to see the inside of a shower. Vegeta wrinkled his nose.

"Go ask someone who knows," was his short answer.

At that moment, the front door flew open. His servant woman, in sunglasses that hung lopsidedly across her face, struggled inside with her hands full of colorful bags.

"Uh, _hello_ Vegeta! Help me!"

He did no such thing.

"Where have you been, woman?"

She fell against the door frame, her knees wobbling beneath her. "I'm serious Vegeta! If you don't help me, the next time that precious gravity chamber gets destroyed, it can just stay that way!"

Not entirely happy about complying with the loud woman's wishes in front of another, Vegeta grudgingly took her bags from her and placed them on the floor.

The woman stood up straight and smoothed out her short red dress. She removed her sunglasses.

"Thanks a lot Vegeta. A girl has to shop!"

"Bulma?"

* * *

Hearing her name in that voice was unsettling. It had been so long since Bulma had seen Yamcha, much less heard him speak her name, that for a moment she was quite sure that she was dreaming up this encounter.

"Yamcha?"

He looked terrible. Hair long, eyes red, in holey jeans and ratty sneakers. And when he stared at her, there was something so sad, so tragic, that she could have melted on the spot.

"Hey."

He ran a hand through his scraggly hair. "Can we talk for a moment B?"

Bulma softened at the sound of her old nickname. "Of course Yamcha. We can talk in the living room if you'd like."

She grabbed his hand and began to lead him into the living room. Vegeta however, was blocking her path as he stood leaning in the archway leading to the living room from the front hall.

"Move it you big lug!" Bulma said to him, not entirely in the mood for Vegeta's games.

"Make me," he mocked her, with no smile present upon his unusually handsome face. Though to be honest he might have been mocking Yamcha, who like herself, had no hope of getting past Vegeta.

Bulma placed her hands on her hips and glared at the man she had slept with only a few hours ago. A tingling sensation ran through her body when his eyes pierced hers.

_Kame! I want him again!_

"Come on Yamcha, we'll go to my office instead."

And as she pushed Yamcha softly in the direction of her office, Vegeta stood straight and allowed entrance into the living room.

"Thank you Vegeta," Bulma said, a bit surprised at his gesture.

"My good deed for the day woman," he said gruffly, opening the front door and slamming it closed behind him.

Rolling her eyes, Bulma led Yamcha to the couch and sat down in a chair across from him. It became instantly awkward and she suddenly realized why. She and Yamcha hadn't spoken in ages.

"I like your haircut," he said to her once neither of the two could bear the strained silence any further. "It really frames your face."

Bulma patted her hair, having forgotten about her decision to cut it already. "Thanks." She looked at his hair and chose not to say anything in return.

There was quiet again. Bulma stared at her white pumps.

"I've missed you Bulma."

The heiress looked up, feeling guilty and ashamed because she could not, no matter how badly she wanted to, return the sentiment.

Yamcha sighed. "I messed things up really badly between us," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay Yamcha."

"No," he interrupted her, "it isn't. I haven't heard from you in eight days."

Now the shame was visible. With hooded eyes, Bulma attempted to explain her way out of that. Somehow, the excuse of simply 'forgetting' him did not seem good enough.

"I didn't think you wanted to hear from me again," she finally concluded, cupping her chin in her hands. "You made that pretty clear when you left."

Yamcha shook his head. "You're my girlfriend Bulma. Why wouldn't I want to hear from you again?"

"Because you stormed out of here without letting me explain myself," Bulma stated, "and because we broke up."

That got his attention.

"We broke up?" he asked her, leaning forward on the couch and nearing her. "_What_?"

"We haven't spoken in awhile and you gave me an ultimatum. That," reasoned Bulma, "sounds like a breakup to me."

"I gave you an ultimatum," Yamcha repeated, his eyes squinted at hers. "I never gave you an ultimatum."

Bulma begged to differ. "You said that if I didn't stop helping Vegeta, you'd leave."

There was silence as Yamcha pondered her statement.

"And you chose Vegeta over me."

She sighed. "I didn't _choose_ anyone over anyone Yamcha. I just made a decision."

"To leave me."

"_You_ left _me_," she countered.

"Well, you should've called."

"I can't come chasing after you every time you get angry and run off. You know that."

Yamcha stood up from the couch. He no longer looked sad. He looked pissed.

"That's what _couples_ do, Bulma! They make the effort! You never even called me!"

Bulma followed suit, still shorter than him in her heels. "You never called me either! It's a two way street buddy!"

"I'm the one who left!"

"Then you can't blame me!"

Yamcha shook his head and turned away from her.

"It's hard to believe you're the same person I fell in love with sometimes," he remarked softly. "He's changed you."

Bulma stepped closer to him and put a hand on his arm. "This has nothing to do with him. People change Yamcha."

He faced her, his eyes shiny.

"I've been miserable without you." He looked away and then shook her hand off his arm. "But you obviously don't feel the same way."

Yamcha ran another hand through his hair and began to move towards the front hall. Bulma followed behind him, not wanting things to end on such a negative note.

"Look Yamcha," she said as his right hand turned the doorknob. "I just… I'm sorry."

He didn't respond.

"It's been a confusing time for everybody," said Bulma as she gave him her most apologetic look. "There are bigger things happening than us right now."

Her ex-boyfriend gave a short laugh and flung the door open.

"That's where we disagree." Yamcha looked at her one last time. "I never thought there was anything bigger than us."

He shut the door in her face. This time, Bulma knew he wasn't going to come back.

She needed a cigarette.


	16. Crossing Paths Pt I

**A/N**: Vegeta faces Bulma, the Androids, and ... ? Read to find out who his next challenger is!

**DISCLAIMER**: It's not mine! It's not mine! ::sob::

* * *

The smoke emitting from her cigarette colored the air a pasty gray. Bulma had been chain smoking for the past two and a half hours. Her lungs were probably filled with ash and cancer.

After Yamcha had left the premises, Bulma had stood dumbly in the front hall, staring at the front door. Then she had quickly excused herself from the room and gone straight to her bedroom.

She had hurriedly rummaged through her drawers, fumbling around aimlessly until she had found them; a half-smoked pack of white and russet colored cigarettes. Bulma was growing quite accustomed to this habit again, something she did not revere. She had been smoke free for the past week, and now the ugly compulsion had reared its ugly little head again.

"What's that disgusting smell?"

Not having heard Vegeta come up behind her, Bulma was startled to say the least. She felt especially stupid, as she was standing a few yards from the Gravity Room and should have seen the Saiyan emerge just a few moments ago.

Turning around after expelling smoke from the inside of her mouth, Bulma found herself looking directly into Vegeta's eyes.

"What do you want?" she asked, not bothering to answer his question, particularly when she knew that _he_ knew the answer already.

Vegeta darted his eyes towards her fingers which were holding the smoldering tobacco. Too quick for her eyes, he had seized it in an iron grip and thrown it behind his shoulder without looking behind him to see where it had landed.

"What the hell, Vegeta!" Bulma yelled at him, peering anxiously behind him in a vein attempt to see where it had landed. "I'm not in the mood, alright?"

He didn't seem to care as he returned her hateful gaze. "I could care less what type of mood you happen to be in woman," he stated firmly, "but I won't have you contaminating my air supply."

So upset was the woman that he had the audacity to catastrophically destroy her smoking period, she refused to dignify his response with one of her own. Instead she coiled her lips into an ugly smile, pushed a piece of sapphire hair behind her ear and replaced her first cigarette.

The flame burst from her lighter.

The lighter burst into flame.

"Damn you Vegeta!"

The aforementioned stood in front of her, his hand cocked like a pistol. One of his fingers remained trained at where her cigarette had once been.

"You asshole!" screamed Bulma, finally losing her cool. She looked around, searching for a stick or stone… a weapon of any sort to emphasize her fury.

She rapidly bent down, grabbed a white pump, and heaved it at Vegeta, who did not expect it.

The shoe made a _thunk_ against his thick cranium and slid off of his body and onto the ground.

Her wrist in his hand. A familiar scenario.

"Two seconds and that hand better be somewhere else!" threatened Bulma.

Two seconds later his hand _was_ somewhere else.

Her breast.

His other hand slipped behind her waist and pulled her closer to him. Her head went right under his chin and she could smell soap. Bulma forgot about her interrupted smoke.

"Since when do you make an effort to be clean?" she asked him, sniffing exaggeratedly.

He pushed her gently away from him, a strange look on his face.

"I bathe woman."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "I'm aware Vegeta." She suddenly remembered her anger.

"You owe me for my next pack you know."

He arched an eyebrow. "Pack?"

Bulma pointed behind him and he turned around, his gaze dropping on the fallen cigarette. She had remembered once again.

"I would think my services here would be enough payment," Vegeta said as he crossed his arms looking very put out, and very cute. "You should be thanking me for saving your life woman."

Bulma scrunched up her eyes. "Saving your life? Are you kidding me? The Androids aren't even here yet!"

Wordlessly Vegeta pointed behind him. "If you hadn't the attention span of a three-year-old, you'd remember that we were talking about those cancerous things that fill your lungs with smoke."

Bulma wasn't startled at his sarcasm. She was however, somewhat taken aback by his concern for her.

"Jeez Vegeta. I never thought you'd be so interested in my health." Bulma smiled so that all of her teeth showed. "Wow. This is quite a fascinating development. Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans… caring about my welfare!"

He curled his upper lip. "Don't push it woman."

There was an awkward pause.

"The smoke pollutes the air I breathe," Vegeta added quickly after being presented with another giant toothy smile.

"Sure babe," Bulma said, pinching his cheek between her thumb and index.

Scowling, Vegeta pushed her away from his face. "Stop that! I'm not to be coddled!"

"You liked that earlier," she taunted him, lowering her eyelashes at him. "You didn't tell me to stop then."

He growled.

"What's the matter Vegeta?" Bulma traced a line from his jaw to his hairline with her finger. "What's got you all hot and bothered?"

"I have to train and you're proving yourself nothing more than a nuisance. Now get out of my way, pest!"

But Bulma noticed he made no attempt to shove her away, that he took no steps to further the distance between them. Instead he was gazing at her darkly, his fists clenched at his waist.

He was holding himself back.

From her.

Bulma leaned forward and kissed him on the nose.

"Upstairs. Now."

* * *

How he had managed to find himself lying bare in the presence of Bulma Brief once again was a question Vegeta could not answer. Hadn't he the strength to fight even his most primal urges? Saying no to the woman... keeping her at a considerable distance… could he ever do it?

Vegeta faced the naked woman, locked his eyes with her own. She stared back at him, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. The woman smiled weakly, pulling the covers up towards her chin.

At once the Saiyan was overcome with defiance. Why couldn't he use the woman for his own purposes? Why should he feel guilty about defiling himself with this earthling? Why keep himself from her, when she desired him so freely?

He stood in front of her naked, crossing his arms.

"It's time to make some rules," he stated firmly. "Understand?"

Her eyes had traveled somewhere lower than his face and this annoyed him. He could forgive her for that though. After all, she had been with that pathetic human for some time now.

"Uh-huh," Bulma said, biting her bottom lip seductively. "What did you say?"

"Pay attention woman!" he demanded. Vegeta began to pull on his shirt.

Bulma found his face. "Okay, Vegeta. Rules? What type of rules? Rules about what?"

He decided not to answer. He merely looked at her.

His lack of communication seemed to work. Bulma slowly unfolded herself from the bedspread and stood to face him.

Now it was his time to stare. She was speaking and he could not hear.

"Vegeta!"

He snapped to attention.

"Hypocrite," she muttered.

Bulma snatched a bathrobe off of her closet door and tied it around her quickly. "Why do we need rules Vegeta? I don't see what the big deal is. We're adults you know."

"Your parents," began Vegeta, but he was interrupted.

"What about them?" she asked with her hands on her hips. "They don't suspect a thing."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "Your parents are meddling fools."

She was quiet at that. No denying the truth he supposed.

"Furthermore woman," he continued, "I intend to continue my training regiment to prepare for the Androids. I can't have you interrupting me every ten minutes because you can't control yourself."

"And I can't have you interrupting me every ten minutes to fix something for you because your desire for me overwhelms you. If you want a quickie Vegeta, all you have do is ask."

His jaw went slack.

"Now if you'll be a dear and let me pass," the woman said as she gently pushed him aside, "I have to take a shower."

Vegeta growled not for the first time that day. He needed to be somewhere without estrogen. He gritted his teeth as he realized where he would be heading.

Something about that woman made him feel invincible.

It. Was. Time.

* * *

Chi-Chi wrung out the blue and white speckled dishtowel and heaved a great sigh.

"One hundred dishes down, a hundred more to go."

The amount of dishes was an obvious exaggeration, but the extent to which both her son and husband could eat was not. Like wild animals they devoured their food until there was nothing left but gnawed bones on a dirty plate.

"That I have to wash," she grumbled, sticking her hands back in the warm, soapy water.

Chi-Chi glanced out of the window that was stationed above the kitchen sink. She could see into the backyard where Goku and ten-year old Gohan were having a friendly spar.

She watched for a moment, interested. Her husband was a master at martial arts, the strongest man in the universe. Her son Gohan seemed to have inherited his father's strength. He could keep up with his father, even at such a young age. Chi-Chi allowed herself to smile. They were moving so quickly that she could barely make out their fading outlines. Their training sessions went well usually.

Even if he mostly did them without her permission.

"I sure have lightened up," she said, looking over at the clean, stacked dishes on top of the counter.

And suddenly there was a flash of blinding light, the sound of glass breaking. Chi-Chi screamed as a blast of energy shattered her window and came straight towards her.

She was forcibly shoved to the opposite side of the kitchen and against the wall.

When the smoke had cleared the room, Chi-Chi managed a weak cough and looked up at her rescuer, who also happened to have been the attacker.

"Gee! I'm really sorry Chi-Chi! I guess Gohan's not ready for the… what are you going to do with that?"

Chi-Chi had already retrieved her frying pan, silver, dark around the edges from years of use and wear.

"GOKU!"

The tall Saiyan backed up, hands raised as an act of submission.

"Chi-Chi… honey!"

"Don't you honey me!" she shouted. She pointed behind him. "Look at the mess you've just made!"

And it was quite a mess. The blast had broken through the window and burnt the curtains. It had blown-up upon contact with the refrigerator, leaving a floor full of disintegrated food and plastic. That was nothing compared to the dishes, which had all crashed onto the floor during the explosion and now lay in a pile of broken glass and crystal.

Goku seemed to realize just how serious the situation was. He laughed nervously, putting one hand behind his head. If anything, he was going to make Chi-Chi laugh, which wasn't something he did often.

"Come on babe, it was an accident! Besides, it was only a couple of plates!"

Perhaps that wasn't amusing to her. Chi-Chi's eyes flashed and she stormed over, the pan hovering above his head.

"DO YOU THINK THAT I'VE BEEN IN THIS KITCHEN FOR HOURS JUST CLEANING UP A FEW _PLATES_?"

"Chi-Chi!"

"I HAVE BEEN WORKING ALL DAY GOKU! DO YOU HEAR ME? ALL DAY!"

Somehow, he had to relax her. Goku thought for a moment. Calming Chi-Chi once she had been set off was no easy task.

"YOU ARE GOING TO STAY IN HERE AND CLEAN UP THIS KITCHEN! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, GOKU? AND YOU CAN GET GOHAN IN HERE TO HELP!"

Chi-Chi stalked to the window, and in her loudest voice, shouted the boy's name. He didn't dare take off.

"You're going to help your father fix this mess," she said to him, narrowing her dark eyes.

She lifted her head so that her chin was high in the air. "Call me when it's finished."

"But mom!" whined Gohan, sticking out his lower lip. "I don't know what to do!"

Chi-Chi thought about yelling again, then decided that perhaps Gohan had a point. After all, he was ten. He usually needed her instruction. It wasn't as if Goku had any idea what _he_ was doing. He had picked up a broom and was sweeping the dirt in different directions.

She sighed.

At that moment, Goku lifted his head and looked behind his shoulder. He grinned broadly.

"Hey! Vegeta's here! Alright!"

Chi-Chi arched an eyebrow. Since when had Vegeta's presence in her home been cause for celebration? The last time she had seen Vegeta had been the day her ill-fated friend Bulma had allowed the man to stay at her home and he had been insane. Besides that, the man was practically obsessed with his gravity chamber. She thought he never left it. Or had hoped really.

There was a sharp knock at the front door and Gohan smiled.

"I'll get it mom!"

He returned a second later with the sullen looking prince. He gave Chi-Chi no indication that he had seen her. Instead he crossed his arms and looked over at her husband, who had stopped his chores.

"Kakarot," he said in a commanding voice, "what would you say to a _friendly_ spar?"

Chi-Chi 'hmphed'. The last thing there would ever be between Goku and Vegeta was a friendly spar.

Goku looked over at her and then his entire face turned downwards in what could only be described as pitiful realization.

"Sorry Vegeta," he said morosely. "I've got to help Chi-Chi clean up the kitchen."

Vegeta looked around him, at the floor. "Why waste the time? You're only going to mess it up again. Besides, it's an improvement on what you normally have. Forget this foolishness Kakarot."

Goku sighed. "I can't. Hey, why don't you ask Bulma to make a bot? I'm sure she'd love to help you."

Vegeta gave the taller man a cross look. "I doubt that Kakarot. Besides, I haven't gotten the opportunity to beat you into a bloody pulp yet." He smirked.

Goku grinned. "Oh, really now?"

Chi-Chi could feel the level of testosterone reaching dangerous levels. Goku loved battle.

"No, Goku. Don't even think about it!" She glared at him. "You are going to stay here and help me and Gohan!"

"It'll only be a little while," Goku said pleadingly. "Come on! I'll clean it up all by myself when I get back!" He smiled at her as another idea presented itself.

"Hey, I know! I'll just get Piccolo to do it! He owes me one!"

"_Goku_," Chi-Chi said edgily, "One mons…"

Chi-Chi didn't say it, but it was possible the Saiyans had understood what she meant. Vegeta's twitching eye looked as though it might have an inkling.

"Are we going to spar or not?" A tiny vein had appeared on Vegeta's forehead.

"Go ahead," Chi-Chi said, absolutely defeated. "You'll only make it worse if you try to help."

Goku gave another prize-winning smile. He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. "Thanks a lot Chich."

"You'd better not think you're off the hook for this mister!" she called after him as he and Vegeta walked into the front yard.

Chi-Chi looked down at Gohan who was dejectedly sweeping ashes into a dustpan. He was bent over on one knee, his tongue sticking out. He looked so much like his father had at his age that she couldn't help but smile.

"Gohan, sweetheart, why don't you go watch? Enjoy life," she said, not really sure what had come over her.

Gohan didn't look as though he knew what had come over his mother either. "Really mom? I can go?"

Chi-Chi kissed his forehead and pointed him towards the doorway. "Yes. Now go before I change my mind."

The boy trotted off and Chi-Chi looked back down at the rubble around her. It was easy to complain about Saiyans, but it was easier to just accept them.


	17. Crossing Paths Pt II

**A/N**: ::sigh:: If only you guys knew how much it means to see so many reviews for this. I really, really, really appreciate them. And I'm happy to see people reviewing who've never reviewed before. Also, I apologize for the wait.

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own Kakarot. Or Kakkarot. Or Kakarrot. Or Kakkarrot.

* * *

...

It was not a bad idea, what the woman had once suggested to him so long ago. To fight with Kakarot and prove his worth was a noble idea indeed. So why so hesitant?

He had stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. His golden Saiyan armor had grown dingy and his blue spandex had become stretched and worn over time. Vegeta only hoped that it was his armor which had weakened. He could not show himself to Kakarot in an inferior state.

_Get a grip_, he told himself with a glare in the smudged mirror. _You've been training for this your entire life!_

Vegeta then turned from his stony reflection and sat on his bed. He wordlessly slipped on his boots, cracking his toes inside of them. He stood up.

He had to be ready. If he could not beat Kakarot, he could not beat the Androids. He did not deserve the chance.

Vegeta sensed the woman before her abrupt knocking interrupted his burdensome thinking. Weeks before he might have snapped at her to leave him alone, but he knew that option had subsided long ago. It was best to let her inside without a hearing-sensitive argument.

The door to his room flew open. There, clad only in a damp yellow towel covered in ducks, she stood.

"I think I left my… where are you going?"

Vegeta arched an eyebrow. "Since when have my whereabouts been of any concern to you?"

He rechecked his armor.

"Don't get yourself too bloodied up Vegeta. I've been watching Goku train, alright?"

He didn't question how she had known, only why she was handing him advice he had not asked for.

Bulma shook her hair and tiny droplets of water stung Vegeta's face.

"Watch it woman!"

"Sorry," she apologized. She paused and then said, "I mean it okay? Goku can go a little overboard sometimes and he doesn't realize his own strength…"

"What are you? My mother?"

She looked at him with haughty blue eyes. "Well someone ought to act like it around here!" she yelled as though she had been stung by his comment.

"And furthermore," said the woman with an air of grouchiness Vegeta was _certainly_ accustomed to, "clean up this room! And open a window for goodness sake!"

Vegeta disregarded her comments, his head too full of thought and uncertainty.

"Did you _hear_ me mister?"

Bulma crossed the room, bent down to where he sat and fixed her eyes upon him. She flicked the end of his nose with a hot pink colored fingernail.

Vegeta growled.

"I'm _talking_ to you Vegeta!"

"I'm not deaf woman!" he said impatiently, grabbing her finger and using it to swing her to the other side of him.

She slipped on the floor and landed with a soft 'thud' on the blankets and pillows littering Vegeta's bed. She yelped.

"I don't have the time to entertain your attitude today woman," said Vegeta with a final look in the mirror. "I've got some unfinished business to attend to."

And he attempted a cocky smirk, an egotistical affirmation of his superior strength and intellect.

It did not seem to click with the woman, who raised one teal eyebrow in response.

"I'm warning you Vegeta… don't go over there and pick a fight alright? Goku might like to spar or whatever, but I certainly wouldn't think about trying to make today 'I Kill Kakarot Day'."

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak but as usual, Bulma quickly interrupted.

"And how could you anyway with that armor?"

She rose from the bed and disrobed completely in front of him. She then used her towel to cover her soaking wet hair.

Naked, and with the Prince's full [yet reluctant] attention, Bulma stood in front of him, examining him quietly with one hand beneath her chin.

"Wow, look at that. Holes everywhere."

Vegeta looked down at himself. True, there were holes in his armor and a few well-deserved dents and scratches, but it was nothing to warrant her or anyone else's preoccupation. His armor was merely supplemental material as far as he was concerned. His true protection lay in his wit and power.

He batted her hand away as it came near him.

"Enough coddling!" he spoke firmly, stepping backwards from her. "I'm fine!"

The woman sighed and seemed as though she might finally let him be. "I'm sorry Vegeta," she apologized with a pursing of her lips, "I just can't help but worry about you sometimes."

She was quiet when he began to leave his room.

"You make it easy."

* * *

He had survived his mid-flight crisis; he had nearly flown back to Capsule Corp. when a sudden panic attack had surfaced, exposing all of his childish fears and reservations.

_What if Kakarot is the chosen one?_

_What if I will never surpass him?_

_What if the legendary status of the Super Saiyan will to myself be unlocked forever?_

_Am I destined to be his lesser for the rest of this life? Me, the great Prince Vegeta of the Saiyans!_

The questions had been maddening, but a more logical, rational Vegeta had been persuaded to continue on with his mission. It was a spar and a spar only. It was not meant to determine his fate. It could not be meant to determine his faith.

Several minutes later, standing on the front porch of the tiny round house of the Son's, Vegeta found himself battling the urge to run from the door and the sounds of Kakarot's woman screaming about her dirty, ruined kitchen.

He could not help but smile. Earthlings were a curious bunch indeed. He knocked, feeling slightly better. When Gohan answered the door, Vegeta returned to his normal state immediately. These people were not strangers to him. They were his companions on this desolate, filthy planet and he _was not afraid of_ Kakarot.

Or anyone else.

"I've got to admit Vegeta, I'm surprised to see you."

Kakarot stretched his arms dumbly to the sky, his spiky black hair blocking the sun from the much shorter man's view.

"You know, I've been waiting for you to come," he continued, leading Vegeta through his spacious backyard. "I think I've really worn Gohan out with all this training!"

Vegeta snorted.

"I think he's really close Vegeta… really close to being a Super Saiyan!" Kakarot said excitedly, turning around to face Vegeta with a wide grin on his face.

There was a tense silence.

"How have you been coming along Vegeta?"

His question fell upon deaf ears. Vegeta was seething inside, fighting his anger. Kakarot's spawn was going to surpass him as well!

"Vegeta? Did you hear me? I asked how you were doing?"

"Fine," snapped Vegeta. He looked around at the leafy, green scenery before him. Nature had always suited him. "Are we almost there?"

Kakarot smiled again. "Sure are! Just want to make sure we stay clear of the house."

He shuddered.

"You should have seen what that kitchen's been through. Master Roshi built us a brand new table the other day. Gohan put Krillin right through it! Man those two!"

Kakarot laughed.

"You should have _seen_ the look on Chi-Chi's face! I thought I'd finally met my match!"

Vegeta had had enough.

"Are you going to fight Kakarot, or are you going to keep rambling on about your ridiculous life?"

Both men stopped in their tracks, and Kakarot blushed a little. "Sorry about that Vegeta. I guess this is far enough. Just a few animals to worry about…"

Vegeta powered up instantly and sent a ball of energy straight into the forest. A large flock of black and purple birds took to the air, screeching. A handful of furry green animals followed.

"There. Cleared out."

"Uh, thanks Vegeta."

Kakarot looked around [_Probably for more signs of wildlife,_ Vegeta mused irritably] and slowly began to power up.

At this Vegeta took considerable notice. Was there something different that Kakarot did to make himself more powerful than his opponents? Was it any different from his own?

At once Vegeta saw that the answer to both of these questions was 'no'. Kakarot's method was no different than his own, albeit somewhat slower. Possibly more methodical.

"You ready Vegeta?"

An aura of silence surrounded the two of them.

It was time.

* * *

"You've clearly-ugh!-been training!" Goku shouted at Vegeta, blocking a right, a left, a left, a left, a right, a right, and another left.

Vegeta didn't hear or didn't care to answer. He responded with another right, left combination that left Goku in a vulnerable position.

If Goku were completely honest with himself, he would admit that the thought of a spar with Vegeta hadn't worried him in the least. In anything he had assumed he would need to go easier on Vegeta than his own son. It was not that he doubted Vegeta's ability or skill. It was just that he had been so focused on the man's coupling with Bulma that he had forgotten that Vegeta had time to train.

"Ah!"

Vegeta had leveled him. Sent a left jab straight into his jaw. Luckily Goku was quick enough to avoid a large tree. And even quicker to avoid Vegeta's powerful right leg which would have delivered a [very] painful sensation to his groin.

On the defense again, Goku began to fight back. He utilized enough strength to appear a match for Vegeta and then, in a very Goku-like way, began to daydream.

He wondered what Bulma and Vegeta's wedding would be like. Trunks hadn't mentioned a wedding; in fact, he had clearly stated otherwise. Goku believed everything the boy from the future had said, but he really did want to plan a wedding. Chi-Chi hadn't let him do a thing with theirs.

The food! Wedding cake and caterers and ….

"OW!"

Vegeta had grabbed him by the neck and had punched him directly in the face.

"WAKE UP KAKAROT! WAKE UP AND FIGHT ME!"

Goku had certainly been woken up. He had never been sidetracked during a fight before. Maybe he ought to take it a little more seriously. Vegeta definitely was.

He was released and dropped to the ground.

"You think you can go easy on me because you've become a Super Saiyan?" shouted Vegeta, his face red with anger. "You think that a fight with me is nothing? That I'm weak? Well! Is that true Kakarot?"

Goku rubbed his neck, feeling a little sore. "No way! Of course not! I just got a little distracted, that's all. Calm down."

"Distracted? Saw something shiny in the _trees_ Kakarot?" Vegeta balled his fists and the power radiating from him increased dramatically. "Hope your attention deficit disorder doesn't kick in while pummeling the Androids!"

Scratching his head, Goku stared at Vegeta. "Attention what?"

Instead of answering, Vegeta attacked. This time though, Goku was ready and he vowed that there would be no more distractions.

His fist broke through an opening in Vegeta's usually spot on defense. He heard his opponent's nose crack.

No distractions.

Even if it cost Vegeta his pride.

* * *

It was already nearing midnight. Bulma glanced at the digital clock in the laboratory. She put another fingernail into her mouth and broke it off with her teeth. The seventh one that night.

Vegeta had gone to visit Goku a long time ago. He had yet to return. Because of his absence, Bulma had only to guess what had happened that day. Had Vegeta killed Goku? Had Goku killed Vegeta? Had they done something to make Chi-Chi kill them both?

The intercom beeped from across the room and static filled the air.

"Dear? Are you still working down there?"

"Yeah mom," answered Bulma, sliding her hands across the smooth blue fabric in front of her. "Why? Need something?"

Her mother sighed loudly. "It's late sweetheart. You've got a long day tomorrow. Remember those boys from AIT are stopping by in the early morning to look at those papers for that machine? Your father went to bed a long time ago."

Bulma had completely forgotten. Advanced Information Tech was a new software company that had hired Capsule Corp to make plans for a new program they were writing. Dr. Brief had designed it immediately, but it was up to the beautiful, charismatic Bulma to sell it.

"I know mom," Bulma lied, "I'm just finishing up a few things here and then I'm hitting the hay."

"Okay honey. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight."

She hit the button to turn off intercom output when it beeped again.

"And dear?"

Bulma looked longingly at her work. "_Yes_ mom?"

"Keep an eye out for Vegeta. He isn't home yet and I'm getting worried about him! He doesn't know what's good for himself, traipsing off in the middle of the night and whatnot! There are _robbers_ out there!"

Bulma smiled in spite of herself. "Okay mom. I will."

They hung up. Bulma looked up at the clock.

12:00.

_I've got to hand it to you Vegeta… you really know how to give a girl gray hairs!_

Bulma looked at her broken pink fingernails. She'd rip them all off just to know that Vegeta and Goku were both alive and well.

At 12:33, Bulma had nearly finished her latest project. Tired, she looked down at the table where small patches of dark blue lycra spandex had been patched to their original suit. She hoped that Vegeta would appreciate what she had done and forget that she had obviously had to go through his wardrobe to get her supplies.

If only she had gotten to the armor quick enough. One large armory piece that Vegeta wore over his chest lay on another table, sparkling clean but still dented and scratched. The dent repair could probably be done with a simple hair dryer and compressed air. The scratches could be painted over she supposed.

Bulma picked up the armor. It was pretty tough.

"Whoa-wait a minute! How do those guys get this on!"

"It's expandable."

Bulma shrieked and in her haste to get away from the so-called 'intruder', she fell over sideways, knocking over a table and nearly crashing to the floor. "V-Vegeta?"

The Saiyan Prince stepped out of the darkness. His face was scratched and bloody. His nose sat crooked upon his face and his hair had obviously seen fire.

"Kami, Vegeta! Are you alright?" Bulma asked anxiously, standing up instantly so that she could look him over. "You look awful!"

Vegeta ignored her question and walked to the fallen table. He sat it back up and grabbed his armor. He made a face that was contrary to his usual handsome one.

"What have you been doing in my room woman?"

Bulma blinked rapidly, trying to avoid his temper and keep her own at the same time. "I noticed earlier that your armor was nearing its end. I thought I'd fix it before you came home."

Vegeta snatched his blue suit off of the floor as well. "For what?"

Bulma shrugged. "I don't know. To surprise you I guess."

"I don't like surprises," he told her with a grimace. He held up his armor. "You don't know how this works and yet you've tried to fix it. Stupid woman. You should have asked me."

"Well _you're welcome_!" Bulma said angrily, feeling quite deflated now that her work had been insulted. "And besides! I can figure this out on my own-thanks!"

With that she snatched the material out of Vegeta's hand and slammed it onto the table.

"And for your information, I _would_ have figured it out all on my own if you hadn't shown up!"

Bulma put the blue material in front of him. "For example, I figured out _on my own_ that this jumpsuit is almost as durable as the chest piece. I added a few touches of my own of course… but I guarantee it's just as elastic and durable."

She held it out to him.

"I'm glad I didn't have to make an entire suit-though I could," she added. "Reducing prepolymer is not a fast job."

Bulma observed with an air of smugness that Vegeta seemed at a loss for words. He took the material and twisted it through his calloused hands. He sniffed it.

"A purpose for the woman after all," he said under his breath, but each knew she had heard him.

"I'll take that as a thank-you."

"Whatever."

Vegeta handed her back the attire and looked around her lab. While he did this, Bulma took care to look at him.

He was bloody, covered in ash, his face and uniform blackened with dirt and dust. Both legs of his jumpsuit had been ripped to shreds. His brown legs could be seen underneath them, covered in scratches.

It as a pain to not say anything about his condition, but Bulma knew from experience to keep her mouth closed. He would tell her, in time.

"What is this?"

Bulma snapped back to the present and followed Vegeta's tilted head. He was staring solemnly at a large chamber.

"It's a Gravity Room simulator my father and I are working on," she replied. "Dad figures we should make another one so that you have something to train in when you blow the other one up."

Vegeta made a facial gesture that could be mistaken for a tiny smile.

"More like the servants I left behind every day."

He stared at her, locked his blackened eyes with her pale ones. His body may have been listless, dull. His eyes were not.

And to have him look at her like that… like he was actually grateful for her hard work… it touched her more than anything ever had.

* * *

**A/N**: I'M BACK!


	18. Abandoment Issues

**A/N:** Whoa look! There's a story here! … Oops.

**DISCLAIMER**: Please claim me.

* * *

They had been fucking for weeks now.

His room, her room, any empty room they both happened to come into a foot's radius of. Hardly amazing that seemed in relation to the fact that absolutely no one had any idea that it was occurring. It happened so frequently that Bulma had calculated that statistically speaking, Vegeta should have been caught with his pants down at least four times.

His pants _were_ on now as he trained in the Gravity Room while she and her father admired their finished Gravity Room simulator. It had been finished at least a month ago, but the updates were laborious and had taken up any of Bulma's time not occupied by the Saiyan prince.

"This ought to be the last update dear," her father said, leaning against a steel workbench cluttered with various electronics. "Hard to believe I missed so much! Must be the age."

_Or me_, Bulma thought as she remembered how often her mind had been elsewhere while the two had been working together. It was a good thing her father only pretended to need her help sometimes.

"Well I think it's perfect now. I'll use whatever bots Vegeta ruins today to test it out," she said.

Dr. Brief gave her a tiny smile that she could barely see under his bushy moustache. "I bet Vegeta would be more than happy to help you out."

And just what was that supposed to mean?

Her father patted her on the back. "Don't think I haven't noticed the generous amount of time the two of you have been spending together lately."

Bulma fumbled for words but instead discovered that she had temporarily been rendered speechless.

"I'm so proud of you dear," he continued, folding his arms against his chest and tilting his head so that he looked directly into the ceiling lights. "If there's one thing that boy needs, it's a friend. I've always said it."

A great sigh of relief threatened to fall from Bulma's lips. "Yeah dad. I know."

* * *

Vegeta was wary. Besides the occasional rumble of thunder overhead, which undoubtedly threatened a rainstorm that night, absolutely nothing had interrupted him for the past week and a half. The holographic monitor the humans used for dual communication had been suspiciously absent. As for the humans themselves, Vegeta was also on guard. Though he was quite used to the spontaneity of the woman's visits, he was beginning to wish she would pester him more often while he trained. He was on edge, waiting for the inevitable.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

A reluctant smile impeded the frown he usually kept for the woman's incessant banging.

"What is it?" he called out to her.

"If you want to find out you have to let me in!" she shouted back.

With a reluctant press of the 'open' button, the steps descended, revealing an incredibly odd looking Bulma Brief.

"Quit staring," the woman said to him, stepping into the middle of the harshly lit Gravity Room.

The woman was wearing a large white Hazmat suit and large yellow gloves adorned her hands. The only part of her that remained uncovered was her face, which had been stripped of the plastic mask and black breathing apparatus hanging at her neckline.

"What is all of this?" Vegeta asked her gruffly, not quite understanding. "You look like a giant rabbit."

She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small capsule. "You know that new gravity simulation my dad and I have been working on for you?"

He shook his head impatiently to indicate that he had.

"_Well_," said the woman with a grin, "we were able to use these suits to prematurely test it ourselves! When worn properly the suit can withstand exceedingly high temperatures and withstand up to three times the earth's gravity!"

She paused.

"Isn't that exciting?"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "I like you better without the suit."

"Thanks a lot, Vegeta."

All of a sudden a loud _boom_ ripped through the air. Bulma screamed and flung herself at Vegeta who had barely noticed the loud thunder in the first place.

He felt her temperature rise, warming his already hot body; it was very inconvenient. Looking down at her he noticed a faint red blush creeping over her panic-stricken face. Her gloves were clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

His jaw dropped.

"Don't look at me like that, alright?" she said with consternation, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-I don't like thunderstorms a-and…."

_BOOM!_

The woman gave a high pitched shriek and threw herself at him completely, dropping to her knees. Vegeta had no idea what it was he was supposed to do. He had never seen her behave in such a manner before.

"VEGETA MAKE IT STOP!"

In a mild state of shock, Vegeta managed to seal his mouth shut and bent down towards the cowering woman.

"You can't mean that you're afraid of a harmless-"

"-It is not _harmless_!" she shouted back, interrupting what he had hoped would be a calming bit of information, "It is a _bolt of lightning _that can carry up to one billion volts of electricity!"

He would have laughed had her fear not been so apparent to him. Rolling his eyes, he scooped her off of the ground and against his chest. "Relax, woman. I'll protect you."

She rolled her eyes back.

He snorted angrily at her obvious display of doubt. "How can you be afraid of the weather when you're a scientist? Surely you know how lightning works!"

"I'm an _engineer_," she corrected sharply, "not a meteorologist!"

She gripped his arm tightly when another roll of thunder made its round. Vegeta sighed deeply, narrowing his eyes.

"Control yourself woman. I'm going to need that arm."

Red-faced, the woman detached herself from him. An especially loud rumble sent her scampering across the room on all fours.

This time Vegeta could not help himself; he turned to her in a fury.

"Surely you've spent enough time on this accursed mudball to adapt to its elements!"

She couldn't answer him audibly. Her answers were coming from between her hands which were mashed to her face.

"I expected a lot more out of you," Vegeta said, crossing his arms and turning away from her. "You're nothing like a Saiyan."

His words had their desired effect. Turning back towards her, Vegeta could see that she had removed her hands from her face and was staring at him wide-eyed, but silent.

Those _damned eyes!_

"Put your helmet on woman," he snarled, seeing lightning flash across the sky. "We're going for a ride."

* * *

It had begun to rain now, and hard. Vegeta stood idly in front of the deserted Gravity Room as it washed over him, the water glistening off his skin in the starlight.

Walking haphazardly in her fucking_ Hazmat_, Bulma stumbled towards him. She was absolutely not going to stand in the death storm while her Saiyan guest twiddled his thumbs.

"I already _know_ what rain feels like _Vegeta_. I am _going_ back _inside!_"

She started to leave him, the mud under her feet slowing her so that she was moving at an impatient waddle.

Vegeta abruptly reached out, seizing her before she could get very far. He held her like that, one hand clutching the back of her suit, while he lifted off of the earth.

"LET ME DOWN!" she screamed, her wildest fears certainly not assuaged while she was being delivered to them. "LET ME DOWN NOW OR I'LL WAKE THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD!"

Vegeta did not answer her.

This was it, she was going to die.

Her eyes, a dark green-violet in the reflection of the rain, were staring upward, praying. The ground below her was growing further and further away. The tops of trees and buildings bid her goodbye as she sailed past them.

She gave up trying to protest and went limp in his grasp.

"Good idea," he said.

At least she wasn't getting wet. Bulma looked up at the sky through her plastic mask. Fat raindrops shattered against it, blurring her vision. It was impossible to see where Vegeta was taking her.

After one or two minutes, Bulma began to notice that her breathing was much faster. Wherever Vegeta had decided to go, he hadn't taken into account her human response to high altitudes.

Too peeved to say anything at first, she hit him as hard as she could in the stomach.

Of course he didn't flinch. "We're here," he responded, stopping mid-flight.

Bulma wiped her mask with her gloves leaving a smear of water there that she could barely see through. She deduced from what little she could make out that the two of them were on some sort of cliff.

She turned towards Vegeta who had let her go and was standing alone near the cliff's edge, his chin pointing upwards.

"He_llo_?" Bulma barked at him with an edge to her tone. "What are we doing here? It's pouring rain you know!"

Vegeta turned towards her, smirking.

"You're going to face your fears."

* * *

It was useless of her to struggle against him. That of course, did not deter her.

"Hey buddy!" she was screaming, punching him as hard as her tiny fists could, "I'm not in the mood for this alright? I've got work in the morning now take me home!"

Vegeta ignored her and sat down on the largest stone amidst a pile of debris and rock. He placed a fist under his chin, propped up by his knee.

Making every effort not to trip he assumed, Bulma awkwardly found her way to where he sat, her face a mixture of horror and revulsion.

"Here," Vegeta said generously, gesturing towards a rock close to him. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Perhaps it was his cocky smile that gave him away.

"I am not joking Vegeta! I am going to jump off of this cliff if you don't take me home! It is thundering and lightning out here you idiot- AHHHH!"

A lightning bolt flickered menacingly from one cloud to another right in front of them. Given their current altitude, even Vegeta had to admit that it was imposing.

"You see! That's it Vegeta!" Bulma shouted at him through her protective gear. "I'm going over the edge right now! And I hope you thoroughly enjoyed last night because it is the last time you are going to have my company for a _very long time!_"

Vegeta watched with narrowed eyes as the scientist began walking backwards, clumsily, teetering dangerously near the muddy brink.

"Are you insane!" Hardly a question at all, really.

"This paltry display of lightning is scarcely impressive, considering the lightning storms we had on Vegetasai," he said to Bulma, knowing he would stop her lunacy with a rambling about his home planet.

She eyed him with what appeared to be derision. She looked over the edge. "You had lightning storms on Vegetasai?"

"For months at a time."

The woman looked awed. She finally chose to take the spot next to him. "That's amazing! Something like that could never happen here on Earth. Though come to think of it, it's not as though it's not lightning _somewhere _at just about every second. Those sorts of atmospheric pressures must have occurred in the same place for longer periods of time-mmmbrrg!"

Vegeta's hand pulled back her helmet and clamped over her mouth.

"Not everything is a science project, woman."

He slowly uncovered her mouth, tensing his ears for what he assumed would be an outburst of rage and offense at the water now streaming down her face.

The woman merely narrowed her eyes at him, not saying anything to him at all. It was a surprise, of course, but revered.

The two sat in silence for a few moments after that, the sky growing darker and darker as nightfall set in. Even the stars disappeared as the forbidding cumulonimbus clouds moved slowly across them. The rain showed no chance of letting up. Both of them were entirely soaked.

"This is nice," Bulma said quietly, leaning against his shoulder. "Even though I'll probably die of pneumonia."

He grunted.

"I mean it," she stated firmly. "I'm glad you brought me here. I like spending time with you, you know."

"Don't get too comfortable," he said with his nose wrinkled.

She settled in deeper. "You should be nice to be, Vegeta. I'm sure I'm going to catch _something_ from sitting out here in the rain all night. It's not even that warm."

Sighing, nudged her off of him and stood up. With a roll of his eyes, he placed one hand on his hip and pointed another behind him. "Follow me woman if you wish to dry off."

He had hunted in this very area time and time before. No doubt the cave he planned to take her would be dry and without unwanted visitors. With a sardonic smirk, Vegeta remembered the two previous inhabitants who no longer resided there.

With her rubber latex hands roughly holding onto him as he led her into the inky black forest, he could not help but let her know his true intentions.

"You will be warm," he said, a dark twinkle in his eyes. "Take off that suit."

* * *

It was 4:03.

Bulma bit another fuchsia tinged nail and spit it across the kitchen counter.

She should not worry like this. She should really and truly not worry.

4:04.

She was going to have a mental breakdown very soon.

Sitting on a high barstool in the kitchen, Bulma had not moved very much since 3:51 that afternoon. She had been taking turns sitting in every room of the house to give herself something to do ever since 9:20 that morning that passed uneventfully. There were not so many rooms left to idly sit, unless she counted the Capsule Corp workrooms.

"This is seriously not happening to me," she moaned into her hands, banging her head on the counter so many times that after a few minutes she lost count.

It was too early to know of course, too early to make any sort of decision about any sort of choice she may or may not have in the matter. After all, this happened to women all of the time. Bulma Brief was no special exception simply because she happened to be extraordinarily rich or intelligent or beautiful or a friend to alien Saiyans.

"Impossible! I've taken it every single day at the _same_ time every _single_ time!"

Bulma wrapped her head around the possibilities. She did recognize that her anxiety and panic were not completely normal. A normal person might not jump at all the wrong conclusions simply because a few hours had passed with _no sign of anything at all_.

She was not a normal person.

Ever since she was twelve years old, Bulma Brief had gotten her period at exactly 9:20 or 8:20 (depending on daylight savings time). It was a very odd thing, she understood that, but it was her body and it was wonted. In fact, it was WANTED.

"Oh Kame, why me?" she groaned aloud, her head still on the table.

Would the changes happen soon? Would her breasts swell and ache? Would she vomit her throat raw? Would new, insatiable cravings for abominable food combinations control her life?

It was fruitless to take a home pregnancy test when she already knew that she was pregnant. She may as well just accept that it had happened to her. To Bulma Brief. To the smartest woman she knew.

She lifted her head from the countertop and blinked.

"Vegeta…"

If she was pregnant then he was the father. There could be no doubt about that.

Any reaction she had experienced in those six or so hours would not compare to the reaction she would receive when Vegeta found out. Bulma's head began to swim. Her heart froze along with the ice-cold blood that had stopped in her veins.

He would be livid, outraged, completely uncontrollable.

"Maybe he'll finally become a Super Saiyan," she mused absently.

And then her head was on fire. Her blood was boiling under her flesh as the realization that she was going to have to do this alone, because Vegeta would certainly leave her, became almost too much to bear. How could she raise a child on her own that looked so much like the father who would soon abandon them both?

In their short time together, Vegeta had become very tolerable, pleasant to be around actually. She had come to know him in a way that most people had not and would probably never know. Last night on the cliff, ignoring the spasms of lightning and heavy rain, had been one of the nicest nights with him so far.

It was too bad it was all going to shit.

Best not to be hasty though, right? A home pregnancy test _was_ in order but it was stupid to take it now, when her period was only a few hours late. If it had not come by tomorrow morning _then_ she was allowed to take it.

Bulma could hardly calm herself. How was she going to tell Vegeta? How would she break the news? How could she handle the news herself once it was confirmed? Could she do this alone?

Her hands instantly reached into her jeans pocket as she pulled out her cell. She pressed the number 3 for speed dial.

It rang five times before it connected.

She was silent for a moment. Finally, she spoke.

"I really need you right now."

* * *

"I really need you right now."

The words had been spoken nearly ten minutes ago but he still could not fathom their meaning. Bulma had sounded fragile, afraid … broken. After all of this time, what could she possible need from him?

"You don't have to do this."

Yamcha turned to Puar as he struggled to get his arm through a brown flight jacket.

"Yeah, I think I do."

"She hasn't been much of a friend Yamcha," Puar reminded him with her pudgy blue arms folded in front of her chest. Her position in the bedroom doorway seemed strategic; almost as though she were trying to stop him. "She's just going to hurt you."

Yamcha sighed and turned towards his best friend; his friend who had been there no matter what. "I know. As bad as you think it's going to be… I know it's going to be ten times worse."

He sighed.

"I guess curiosity is winning out on me. I'm going over there to see what I can do to help her. If Vegeta hurt her Puar…."

Puar sighed and moved out of his way. Tossing her a weary smile as he walked out of the door, Yamcha pressed the button on the remote to unlock his sports car.

Puar left him alone as he sat alone in the car, buckling his seatbelt, adjusting the mirrors, igniting the engine, steering away from his apartment complex.

When he reached the Capsule Corp. gates they were already open and he carefully maneuvered inside, memories of his last visit flooding his thoughts instantaneously. He cringed.

"This is it old boy," Yamcha said to himself, turning off the engine and stepping out onto the pavement. "Play it cool."

His feet felt heavier than ever as he walked towards the entrance. The large white door was imposing and ominous. What awaited him inside? It cracked open slightly.

"Yamcha? You… you came?"

Her voice surprised him as he had not expected her to notice his arrival so quickly. It was a little higher pitched than he was used to but it seemed to match the obvious agitation playing on her face.

"Of course I came B," Yamcha said, any anger or resentment he might have been feeling completely erased as he looked at her. "You said that you needed me."

"Oh! Of course I do!" she proclaimed, leaping from the doorway and into his outstretched arms. "I've really missed you Yamcha. You don't have any idea how much."

She smelled like white plum and honeysuckle, mixed with a little lavender, his favorite scents. He held her tightly against him before letting her feet touch the ground again, almost afraid he would scoop her into his arms again and never let her escape his grasp. How could he have walked away from this beguiling woman whose peacock blue eyes sent his heart into spasms?

He could remember if he didn't look at her quite so much.

"Vegeta," Yamcha said, backing away a little. "What did he do to you Bulma?"

His ex-girlfriend blinked a few times and shook her head. "No, Yamcha. It's a little different than that. Come inside, okay? And keep it down… mom is around here somewhere."

He followed her inside, puzzled. If it wasn't the alien prince that was bothering her, that had caused her to break her vow of silence for the past couple of months, then what in the world had happened to her?

She led him to the second floor bathroom and pressed the 'open door' button. The doors opened with a '_swish_' and both entered the room. Bulma locked the door behind them and sat on the porcelain toilet. She gave a long quivery sigh.

Yamcha knelt in front of her, his nerves on overload. He reached out to grab a piece of her hair.

"You cut it again?" he asked in surprise remembering her slightly longer hair the last time they had seen each other.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I sort of went crazy I guess."

It fell just above her shoulders. It was soft and light in his hand. Yamcha could not have disagreed more. "It's beautiful," he said to her, his body responding from being in such close proximity with this woman again. What he wouldn't give for things to be the way they used to be.

She smiled at him, a tight-lipped smile that Yamcha could barely notice over his hormones.

"You don't know what this means to me that you came," said Bulma, putting a piece of hair behind her ear. "I thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you." The words came easily.

She gave a clipped laugh and shrugged. "Well you will after this."

For the first time Yamcha began to question why the two of them were in the bathroom. He had assumed it was because Bulma wanted absolute privacy. Now he was convinced, judging by the guilty look on her face, that she needed the room for what she would show him.

"What's going on B?" asked Yamcha, standing up and looking around. He had become overly suspicious. "Where's Vegeta? Is this a set-up?"

"Of course not!" she assured him, her voice trembling. "Vegeta's in the Gravity Room. He probably knows that you're here though."

His heart slowed a little. "Then what is this all about, Bulma? I'm gonna have a heat attack I swear."

Her face was the picture of shame. Her eyes looked so watery that Yamcha was certain she was going to cry.

"Oh no," he murmured, placing a rough hand on her cheek. "Don't cry, okay? Just tell me what's wrong so I can fix it for you."

"You can't fix this Yamcha," Bulma said to him, and her voice suddenly cracked. "I promise you that nothing can fix this!"

The gravity of her words hit him hard. What the hell had she done? Had she murdered someone? Had she stolen something? Was she going to die? That last question burned into his brain and he felt his knees wobble beneath him.

"L-look under the sink Yamcha," she instructed him. "There's a cup in the bottom cabinet with a stick in it. Don't' spill anything in the cup."

Baffled, Yamcha did as he was told. He held the yellow cup steadily in his hands so carefully even the white plastic stick did not move.

"Take the stick out and tell me what you see."

Again he followed directions. He stared at the stick, only beginning to realize what was going on.

"Bulma," he whispered, in a state of shock. "Bulma what the hell are you asking me to…"

"Tell me how many lines there are," she interrupted. "Tell me how many."

Yamcha looked at the stick in complete silence. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. It had never been so silent in the Briefs' home.

A full minute passed without a word from either one of them. Perhaps Bulma was letting him digest the news.

Finally, he looked up at her. She was blurry around the edges.

"Two."

Silence.

"I'm positive," Yamcha said before she could ask if he was sure. He placed the pregnancy test and the cup on the sink.

Bulma swallowed loudly. "Pregnant. I need to make a doctor's appointment to confirm it."

Yamcha sat on the floor. He stared at the cracks between the tiles, tracing patterns with his fingers. Bulma was going to have a baby. She was pregnant and she was going to have a baby.

It wasn't his.

The baby growing and developing inside of her at this very minute was not his. It could not be his.

She wasn't his either.

"Who's the father?"

His voice was deep, fuming. He could keep himself under control.

"I asked you who the _father_ was!"

Bulma scrambled off of the toilet seat and onto the floor with him. She took his hands in his but he pulled away, already knowing the answer and hating her for it.

"Yamcha please… I need someone right now and…"

"Did he force you?"

Even as he asked her he knew what the answer was to that too. She had clearly gone along with whatever had happened between them; she had probably even initiated it. What was it to him anyway? Bulma didn't belong to him anymore. This was evidence of that.

His heart ached in his chest. How could she do this to him? How could she bring him here to crush him like this? Had it occurred to her that he might not be the person to share this with? They had shared dreams with one another, talked about children. Yamcha remembered bitterly that those talks usually ended with Bulma's declaration of eternal childlessness.

"What are you going to do?"

She didn't answer right away.

"I'm going to keep it."

So she wouldn't make plans to have a family with him, her boyfriend of years, the only man who could ever love her as much as she deserved to be loved. That would be ridiculous. That would be absurd. That would be illogical.

No, it made much more sense to keep _his_ baby. To have his bastard spawn.

Yamcha recanted quickly. No, it wasn't the baby's fault. It was his fault for being around when she needed him; it was his fault she had used him like this.

The blurred edges of his vision spanned farther than before. It was getting even more difficult to see. He stood up quickly, zipped his jacket up to his chin.

"Glad to be of service to you but I gotta go," Yamcha said curtly, exiting the bathroom.

"Yamcha wait!"

Her cries for his return hurt him too. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and forgive her for what she had put him through, but he couldn't do that. Puar's warnings flashed through his head rapidly. Yamcha should not be here.

She had hurt him more than even he had imagined she could.

"Please Yamcha!" she called behind him, her voice sounding muffled. "I know I have no right to ask you for anything! I know that! But I don't have anyone else!"

That was the last straw. Yamcha swung around, almost knocking her down.

"You are the most selfish person on the face of this planet, Bulma! Do you understand that? You _left_ me behind while you _moved on_ with that… with that _thing_ and you expect me to be here at your beck and call? Are you so self-obsessed and spoiled that you think you can treat me however you want?"

Her face had gone white in his outburst.

"You brought me here after months of ignoring my attempts to call you! I shouldn't have come but I _did_. I came because I thought my _friend_ needed me! Instead you make me find out you're having some other guy's baby!"

"Yamcha, I-"

"What Bulma?" he screamed at her, losing control. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

She collapsed in tears in front of him, her sobs echoing through the hallway.

"You're r-right," she said through her crying. "Just leave me alone!"

"Since when has anyone else ever been right?" Yamcha asked sarcastically, for once not caring that she was crying in front of him.

"I can do this alone, alright? I don't n-need anyone," she said, wiping her eyes and sniffing. "I've made it through much worse. I-I'm happy."

She sure didn't appear to be. Her eyes were puffy and red and she was curled in a ball on the floor. Yamcha sat her up roughly.

"Happy?"

"I'm sorry about all of this Yamcha," Bulma said to him and the look in her eyes was so sincere that he believed her at once. "I _am_ spoiled. I didn't know what else to do. Everyone is busy a-and you've always been around…."

More tears flittered down her cheeks but Yamcha could tell she was gaining a little more control of herself. Her display of strength made him feel a little bit better too. His eyes dried.

"You don't have to be here," she said as she grabbed her hair in her hands and trembled. "I really can do this alone."

"What about _Vegeta_?" Yamcha asked her, his voice darkening on the prince's name. No matter what he thought of Bulma, he would always hate Vegeta.

"What about _him_?" Bulma asked in return. She sighed loudly as though she had lost hope entirely. "He's been really nice to me… different even. But I don't know how to tell him this. I really don't know what he's going to do and it's… it's scary Yamcha."

"I'll tell you what he's going to do," Yamcha told her forcefully. "He's going to leave you. He's too arrogant to let some Earth woman have the heir to his throne while he's around."

"WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?"

Yamcha backed away from Bulma, who was now so angry that he was having flashbacks of his life.

"B-Bulma?"

"Maybe it won't be like that! Maybe he'll… maybe he'll want to be there!"

But Yamcha could tell she was absolutely not sure.

He sighed and pulled her into his arms. Her tears soaked through his jacket. He hugged her like that for a long time. Bulma was right. No matter what had happened between them, they were always going to be there for one another. Or at least he was going to be there for her.

Yamcha managed to merely roll his eyes. Would he always love her like this? For the rest of his life would he feel like he was her guardian and savior?

"You're having a baby, B," Yamcha said with whatever happiness he could muster. "It's supposed to be a happy occasion. Congratulations!"

There was a gasp in the hall where they stood. Both Bulma and Yamcha turned around to see Bunny in a pink and green apron carrying a tray of cookies. It crashed to the floor. A chocolate chip cookie rolled to a stop at Yamcha's sneaker.

"Bulma, dear! You're having a baby! How wonderful!"

Bulma's face drained of color.

* * *

Vegeta could not afford a rest. His quest to become a Super Saiyan had been halted too many times to count. How could he expect to become the legendary when his enemies stood so far from his own progress? Kakarot had already surpassed him long ago. The boy who had warned them of the Androids had surpassed him as well.

Was everyone going to surpass him?

The rage burst out of him in an impressive show of power. A yellow aurora of energy and light surrounded his bulging, glowing form as he continued to power up.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Another forty-five minutes had passed exactly.

"_Increase gravity simulation: 600 times planet's normal gravity. Warning: simulation has increased by 50 times planet's normal gravity._"

It was more difficult to power up now, but Vegeta did not stop. He could not get stronger if he did not push himself.

"Come… on weakling!" he grunted to himself, his muscles expanding and tightening in the upsurge in gravity.

The pain was excruciating but he could not stop.

"Just a little… bit… further!"

He shot a large ball of light from his left palm and it went into a harsh orbit, threatening to crash into him at any moment.

He leapt over it once and landed agilely on his left foot. It came again and he performed a perfectly executed back flip onto one finger.

For the next fifteen minutes Vegeta was lost in a world of fiery bliss, one he was no stranger to.

The blast came quickly. He ducked, narrowly avoiding it. It was getting easier to escape it now that he was accustomed to the higher gravity setting.

There was a very loud knock at the door. He could sense it was the woman.

Irritation.

"Vegeta! I need to talk to you. It's really important!" she yelled loud enough for him to hear.

"LATER!" he shouted back.

He paused as he leapt over the ball of energy.

"Unless you've brought me something!"

"Oh, I have!"

Sweating profusely, Vegeta managed to leap over the blast again without fail.

"WHAT IS IT?"

There was no answer for a few seconds. Impatiently, Vegeta continued his training regiment. There was no chance she was getting inside, no matter how curious she intended to make him.

And even over the gravity simulation and his own sounds as he moved back and forth in the chamber, Vegeta could still hear what she shouted at him next.

"Your baby!"

The beam of hot energy pummeled into him as a stunned Vegeta plummeted to the floor.

* * *

**A/N: **So I realize that I kept a lot of people waiting for this one and I do apologize. I've never been quite so stuck with writer's block before. I'm not sure how many can relate, but hitting a crucial part in the story makes my head hurt. I made this chapter extra long to make up for the delay. Look for the next one within the next few days.


	19. Daddy Issues

_A/N_: Guess who's back with a brand new chap?

**DISCLAIMER**: I'm not sure if I own anything at all. Who are we? Do we exist? Am I real? Is this disclaimer real? Is space relative? Are we all connected? Are we a product of someone's imagination? Is life controlled by something other than space aliens and...

* * *

Okay, this was getting ridiculous.

"Vegeta, open this door right now! I mean it! Open it or the Androids are the very last thing you'll be thinking about!"

Bulma stood outside of the Gravity room with one hand at her waist, the other balled tightly into a fist, banging on the door. With everything she felt right now, the new mom-to-be wondered if she just might be able to tear it down with her bare hands.

There was the sound of a click and finally the stairs that would ultimately lead her inside to the GR descended. At the top of them stood Vegeta, looking as though he had stuck a fork in a socket. His clothes were charred as was his usually tan skin, which was a faint reddish brown instead. His eyes were unblinking as she walked past him.

Kame, that look was priceless.

Bulma walked swiftly across the tiled floor; the gravity had been turned off for her sake. She then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the chamber, her legs crossed and tucked beneath one another. She propped her elbows upon them and stared up at the Saiyan prince with the most innocent look she could muster.

The door closed and what little light there had been inside was swallowed up in darkness. Vegeta remained where he was, his index finger not moving from the 'close' button. A few moment s passed.

"Can you turn a light on in here?" Bulma called from her spot on the floor. "A girl can barely see."

He did not move.

"Whatever, guess my eyes can adjust…."

He suddenly turned around and his face was contorted with confusion and bewilderment. It stunned Bulma to see the emotions displayed so clearly on his handsome face. Her arm was suddenly in his and she was yanked from the floor aggressively.

"Is this some sort of _joke_, woman?"

His grip had not tightened, but Bulma knew the intensity of his words; he had spit out the word 'joke' as though it had tasted sour. She rolled her eyes, too distraught herself to care much for his feelings.

"If only," she muttered, lowering her eyes and attempting to detach herself from the Saiyan's grasp. She sighed.

"Can you let me go please? You're hurting me."

He released her as an afterthought, probably unaware that he had even reached for her in the first place.

"Believe me Vegeta," Bulma stated with a tiny pout. She had expected something from him, but not disbelief. He still didn't trust her. "I'm going to the doctor's tomorrow morning to make sure."

His eyes turned downward and became fixated on her flat stomach, hidden beneath a yellow tank top. He paused in his breathing and narrowed his eyes.

"What exactly are you doing?" she asked irritably. His staring made her very uncomfortable.

He furrowed his brow and grunted. "I can't sense it."

She was awed at once, her eyes frozen wide. Now he was not staring nearly hard enough for her! Bulma lurched forward and seized him with both hands.

"You can sense the baby? Is it a boy? A girl?"

Vegeta pushed her arms from him and folded them against his chest. His face did not betray his emotions. "I sense nothing."

Bulma absolutely refused to let up. "But you will one day, right? _Right?_"

"The only things in there," Vegeta said as he pointed at her stomach, "are half-digested cupcakes and lard."

Anger spilled from the woman, her blue eyes lighting like those of a Saiyan.

"How dare you!" she shouted, shoving him away from her. "I don't appreciate the attitude, mister! And furthermore I haven't had a cupcake in WEEKS!"

He arched an eyebrow.

"I am perfectly thin!" she continued, "and the only reason I won't be is because _you_ decided to impregnate me with what I'm sure you think is _first-class _sperm!"

"This joke is played out, woman," Vegeta said with what appeared to be a self-satisfied smirk. "You may as well give up."

"I don't have to prove anything to you at all, you know!" Bulma yelled, stabbing the 'open' door button with her elbow. "You'll see the evidence soon enough!"

She turned and tried to keep the tears from her eyes as she faced the father of her unborn child.

"Perhaps we will see," Vegeta said with a tiny smirk, "when it tears itself out of you."

Was he jesting? He seemed to be but Bulma could not tell.

"Just forget it, alright? I'm pregnant, it's _yours_ and I'm keeping it, so THERE!"

With that, Bulma walked away from him, allowing the door to close in the puzzled face behind her.

* * *

It was well into the evening and a bit too chilly for Chi-Chi who swatted a fly before closing the kitchen window.

"Almost done honey," she said as she lifted a pot of boiling milk and cream from the stove and poured it into two mugs of chocolate powder. She stirred both of them until she was greeted with a foamy brown liquid.

She walked to the small table. "Here you go Bulma," she said softly, handing her friend the larger mug. It looked like she needed it. "Gosh it's cold outside!"

"Oh, definitely," said Bulma, instantly taking a sip and flinching from the extreme heat. "I-I'd be so happy if it snowed."

Chi-Chi sat down across from her in a weathered wooden chair Goku refused to let her throw away. One of the legs was a bit shorter than the others and it wobbled unsteadily beneath her.

"Mmm," she murmured, letting her mug warm her fingers. "I suppose Gohan'd like that too. It's not very good for training though, is it? Besides, it's rarely cold enough."

Bulma was looking into her hot chocolate, her red mouth pursed. Chi-Chi couldn't begin to guess what was bothering her, and she couldn't wait to find out. It was torture not to reach over and shake the answer out of her guest.

Best to let her marinate before the kill.

"How is Gohan?" Bulma asked somewhat abruptly, as though she had forgotten the youngster until Chi-Chi had mentioned his name. "Is he doing alright at school?"

Chi-Chi was annoyed straight away. "I could barely get him to study as it was. What with the Androids coming he's all but dropped his school work! Goku doesn't even mind it! In fact!" she added stridently, leaning forward with the news, "Goku thinks he should be able to go to regular school!"

Bulma blinked. "What's wrong with uh, regular school?"

The poor woman! She must have gone temporarily insane or something related to living with Vegeta for an extended period of time.

Chi-Chi _tsked_ to herself. "Bulma. There are _other_ children there that will distract him from learning, not to mention that those teachers have no idea what to teach! With me at least Gohan has a fighting chance! He's a special boy."

"He is," agreed Bulma with a little smile. "He's gotten so big now!"

Dreamily Chi-Chi could remember those simple days when her only child had been learning to walk, not fight.

"An angel," she stated, drifting off into memories. "Never once caused me trouble."

She paused and the dreams began to darken.

"And then Goku started teaching him martial arts."

Bulma laughed and took a long sip of hot chocolate. "How was he as a baby? Was he fussy? Did he cry often?"

Chi-Chi wasn't used to so many questions, but she certainly appreciated another's interest in something so central to herself. "He was quiet at first; a mother's dream. He slept through the night and everything!"

"Wow."

"Yeah, Goku and I expected much worse from a half-Saiyan," Chi-Chi recalled. "After a few months we got a rude awakening. He'd cry so much and so loudly I'm glad we lived far away from people with ears."

She laughed. "He ate like a grown man… still slept through the night though. Plus, his little tail was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen!"

Bulma's expression had changed dramatically. Her tranquility had turned to what looked like fear. "I forgot about the tail…."

"Oh it was no big deal really," Chi-Chi told her friend with a wave of her hand. "I've still got a pile of special diapers he used to wear. Just couldn't bring myself to throw them away." She paused when she saw Bulma's startled expression.

"I'll throw them out once he's married, okay?"

"Did you feel it?" asked Bulma in a near whisper. She had not taken a sip of her drink in a long time. "Did you feel it while you were pregnant?"

"Heavens no!" Chi-Chi nearly spilled her drink as she teetered on the uneven chair. "Gohan didn't get his tail until he was a few months old. Of course, after that it grew so fast it was though he'd always had it. I've asked Goku when he got his tail but you know him."

"He has no idea," Bulma finished.

Nodding, Chi-Chi looked behind her shoulder at the kitchen window. She wished Gohan and Goku would come inside to rest for awhile. They hadn't stopped sparring since the day before.

"I'm not exactly sure how to phrase this Chi-Chi, but…" started Bulma, but she was interrupted by a flash of bright light and a subsequent _CRACK_.

"GERONIMO!"

There was loud laughter from outside and another flash of light, this one colored.

Chi-Chi was on her feet instantly. That cracking noise had sounded an awfully lot like a tree crashing over. She balled her fists. That would be the third one that month.

"GOHAN! GOKU! COME IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

The laughing stopped instantly. Bulma came up beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"What in the world was that?"

The front door opened and didn't shut. With guilty expressions, her son and husband walked into the kitchen covered in clumps of dirt and stained green from the grass. She closed her eyes.

"Mom, are you okay?" asked the voice to the left of her.

"Go upstairs to your room kiddo," said the voice on the right. It sounded nervous, expectant. "We'll wash up soon."

Chi-Chi dared to open her eyes again, a tiny headache starting behind her right eye.

"Hey ya, Chich!" Goku greeted her with the most adorable grin he had ever given her. He looked over at Bulma and smiled wider. "Bulma! What're you doing here? I didn't even sense you coming!"

"Which tree was that, Goku?" interrupted Chi-Chi, hoping it was a small one. Larger ones always brought the mess of giant broken branches and leaves she could never remove from the backyard, spacious as it was.

"Oh that wasn't a tree babe," her husband said, kissing her forehead and taking a seat at the table. "That was lightning!"

Bulma's face had gone very white. Chi-Chi looked at her anxiously.

"Are you alright? You're really pale…."

"I should probably leave now," Bulma responded, sounding nervous.

* * *

Who could have predicted that he would live through the destruction of his world twice? The first has decimated the planet Vegeta, had ripped apart the blood and ties of the Saiyan race and had tampered its survival. There had been nothingness, not even traces left of Frieza's ruin. The second destruction had occurred just hours ago.

The earth had betrayed him her hospitality, had allowed him to temporarily surrender his vices so that he may exist for the time being, in peace. He had never wanted ties to this planet, had refused her his tolerance of earthlings and their frivolity. He had only moodily awaited the robots so that they could be destroyed right along with that buffoon Kakarot! But now... All of that, anything he had ever desired had been shaken, had crumbled around him, encasing him in a prison that not even he, Prince of the Saiyans, could not escape.

He had been careless and taken in.

The television glared at him from the darkness of the living room. He was pressed flat against the wall while he waited for the woman to return. Occasionally he lost himself in the moving images on the screen, the volume turned so low not even he could hear it. It was nearly bearable with the sound off, though he supposed if he watched T more often he could grow accustomed to it. There was much to grow accustomed to.

It was late and she still hadn't returned from her unannounced outing. There was a tinge of something like worry churning his stomach. The repugnance Vegeta felt at his anxiety over the Earthling gripped his insides, melting his innards. He held back his agony by biting his tongue and clamping his lips shut.

It was indescribable the way his body reacted to her absence. Now that she was with child he wondered if it would ever let her leave unannounced again. Vegeta gritted his teeth and pushed those thoughts away. Once he knew for sure, once he could sense the fetus within her, he would not be able to leave her. It would be his duty to protect them both.

The gentle sound of a motor caught Vegeta's ears. He listened as the front gates chimed open. The motor grew louder, idled in front of Capsule Corp. and abruptly cut off.

Vegeta stiffened. She had returned.

His eyes locked on the front door. He waited and waited and waited.

Why wasn't she coming? What was taking her so long?

He could wait no longer. Vegeta seized the doorknob in his hand and pulled it open just as it was pushed into him. Agile as ever, he missed the door by inches.

The woman was staring at him with wide blue eyes, her round pink mouth shaped in an 'o'. She did not say anything though, merely stared.

"Where have you been?" Vegeta asked impatiently.

She sighed and locked the door behind her. Vegeta noticed for the first time that she was soaking wet. Her hair clung to her face and neck. She looked terrible.

"Since when do you care?"

The woman pushed past him and threw off her coat, leaving it dripping wet on the floor. He grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Woman!"

"No, Vegeta! I'm not in the mood alright?" She wiped droplets of water from her face. "I've had a long night and I'm just not in the mood!"

He hated more than her that he absolutely needed to know where she had been. He wished that he had not waited for her to come home so that she would see his revolting concern.

"We need to talk woman, and now," Vegeta said firmly.

His willingness to speak with her must have peaked her curiosity because she actually turned back to him and gave him her full attention.

"About what exactly? How I'm just a liar?" she asked curtly, her arms folded across her chest.

"Why are you so wet?" he asked instead.

She breathed through clenched teeth. "I was facing my fears."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I went back to that place you took me," she said curtly, as though she would really rather not explain her whereabouts. "I stood on the edge of the cliff and looked over."

Glaring Vegeta asked, "You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't expect anything from you."

He did believe her. She was insane.

She rolled her eyes upward towards the ceiling. "What are we talking about again? I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."

Vegeta curled his upper lip. Her faux ignorance was irksome.

"That," he snarled, pointing at her stomach.

"What about _that_?" she asked crossly, apparently not liking his choice of words for the unborn child.

"What are you going to do about it?"

She didn't speak aloud but she did not need to. Her eyes instantly widened and watered but no tears spilled. She began to shake.

"HOW DARE YOU VEGETA!"

The woman bared her teeth at him, the fury coming off of her in waves.

"COULD YOU BE ANYMORE OF A JERK IF YOU TRIED?" she shouted. "I'M NOT GOING TO GET RID OF IT JUST SO YOU CAN HIDE WHAT YOU'VE DONE! IS THAT SOMETHING YOUR STUPID LITTLE MONKEY BRAIN CAN UNDERSTA-"

He was completely taken back. He may give her some credit here as he truly had no idea what she was talking about. "WILL YOU STOP SCREAMING AT ME AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF?" he yelled back.

"NO!"

"AND _WHY_ NOT?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE A HUGE DWEEB!"

Silence.

"THAT'S WHY!" she added with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Vegeta was at a loss for words. Here the woman finally looked happy, though nothing had been solved and he was still uncertain as to why he had been screamed at in the first place. Could he still be so uninformed about Earthlings?

_This is no ordinary Earthling_, he reminded himself sullenly, _this is a woman_. And after all his time here he still had no idea how they worked.

"I hope the baby doesn't come out a thing like you," she told him airily, walking away and heading towards the staircase. "It'd be all the better it if was exactly like me."

"Shopping before it can talk."

She turned around and pointed at him. "Eating like a maniacal pig."

"Looking like a pig."

Her eye twitched. "_Smelling_ and not bathing like a pig!"

"Being immature!"

"Being UGLY!"

Vegeta's eye twitched. He didn't really have anything to say to that.

"So there!" she declared, her face a shining example of triumph.

He balled up his fists, hating to lose at anything and still not sure what the hell he had done to warrant such an attack in the first place.

"You have no idea what you're talking about woman," he said, determined to lay everything out on the table no matter how much he did not want to. "You tell me that you're with child and then refuse to give me any further information."

"Because we both know what's about to happen," said the woman, blinking a few times too many. "I'm already prepared for you to leave. If you're sticking around for the doctor's appointment tomorrow then I understand."

"You want me to leave."

She arched an eyebrow much like he would have. "I never said that. You're more than welcome to stay."

"I won't stay if you'd prefer I leave."

And he wouldn't. Vegeta would not impose himself where he was not wanted.

"I'll see the child on my own," he said stonily, his face void of emotion.

The woman did a double take. "Excuse me? You'll see _what_?"

Vegeta was offended. "You didn't think that I would want to see my heir? With or without you I will stay to train the child until it is able to care for itself."

* * *

He meant it, she could tell. In the dim light Bulma wasn't sure if he could see her tearing up, but she hoped that he could not. She was embarrassed enough for thinking what she had thought about him. Of course, any normal person would have taken offense to the question he had asked her earlier.

He wasn't normal though. Of course his question had meant something different.

Kame she wanted nothing more now than to throw her arms around his neck and thank him for staying. She had barely admitted to herself how much his presence would help her, how his staying would show more to a commitment to raising his child. It would be evidence that somewhere deep down he _was _capable of being a good person.

"Vegeta I…" she began, but could not finish.

"What?"

His voice sounded hardened and she knew he was protecting himself against her, against her hurtful accusations.

Bulma bit her bottom lip; keeping her pride in check was so difficult. She did not really want to beg him to stay.

"I'd like you to stay and help me out," she finally admitted. A piece of dried hair stuck to her face and itched.

There was a silence in which Bulma scratched at her cheek, any anger she had once felt evaporating and not returning. Would he accept her request? Now that he had the upper hand would he use it against her?

_So what if he chooses to leave_, a strong voice said in the back of her head. _You're strong and smart and independent. It's not your loss_.

Her voice was right but she wished it would shut up.

"Fine."

He said it in a way she could not decipher, but it was a welcomed confirmation nonetheless.

"I'm really tired," she said to him and paused. "Do you…?"

Wordlessly he began to walk upstairs in front of her.

"Who have you told?" he asked her once the two of them were laying down side by side in her bed.

"My mom knows," Bulma said sleepily, burying her head in her pillow for comfort. "So I guess dad knows too. And I told Yamcha earlier today."

Vegeta stiffened beside her. Bulma didn't mind, she found it oddly endearing.

"He was pretty mad at first," she said with a yawn, "but we're okay now. He's going with me to my doctor's appointment tomorrow."

She paused.

"Vegeta I need to know something and no matter what I need you to tell me the truth about it."

He turned to face her, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Alright."

She pulled the covers up to her chin. "Before I went to our place... I stopped by Chi-Chi's."

"To spy on Kakarot for me?" he asked suspiciously. "I don't need your help to defeat him woman. I'm perfectly capable of handling him all on my own!"

"Will you shut up and listen?" she cried out impatiently. "I stopped by Chi-Chi's because... well because you said it was going to... that the baby would r-rip out of me."

Vegeta's face was the mask of confusion. After a moment he seemed to realize what had given her that idea and he smirked.

"Relax woman," he said to her. "I wasn't entirely serious."

"Entirely?" she echoed.

He sighed. "In a sense, the infant _will _do exactly that. At least that's what I have been led to believe by your stupid Earth television. The baby's Saiyan heritage should not impact how it is delivered. You will not die in labor."

"I suspected as much given Chi-Chi's being here and all," Bulma said sarcastically. "But will it hurt a lot? You said it being half-Saiyan won't change how it's delivered."

"It won't," Vegeta answered her, closing his eyes. "Women die giving birth, that is a fact. If you should do so it would not be in regards to the child's parentage. But I will not let you," he added hastily, perhaps sensing her fear.

Bulma snuggled closer to him, though the two did not touch.

"What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"The usual. If you ever let me sleep."

His short words with her were irritating but nothing to worry about. She wasn't completely selfish. She'd give him some time to absorb the information but eventually he would need to accept it.

Until then she was content to just lay next to him, listening to his steady breathing until they both fell asleep.

* * *

She was wearing a blue sundress that did not go well with the vomit colored green gurney she rested on. The crinkly white paper underneath her tickled her legs and made her uncomfortable.

"Yamcha how long does it really take to look at a blood sample?"

Her ex-boyfriend rolled his eyes and didn't move from his spot on the wall. "Bulma stop complaining. They'll be back any minute. Besides, thanks to you being a freaking celebrity we've only been here ten minutes."

That much was true. Everyone else in the waiting room, appointment or not, had seemed envious of her speedily arrival into the doctor's office.

"It's just so impersonal here you know?" she said as she looked around. "I mean, who decorates these offices? Everything looks so… disgusting!"

"_Bulma_."

Her eyes focused on the clean white and light green walls that enclosed her in the office. There were three blue stools that sat low to the floor. She knew the doctor would choose one of them to sit in while he told her the results of her pregnancy test.

"Ever consider what would happen if you were wrong?" Yamcha asked her, interrupting her thoughts.

"I'm right, trust me," said Bulma, observing a chart that showed the muscles in the human body. "I wonder if they'll have a date for me to pop already!"

Yamcha rolled his eyes again. Bulma couldn't complain about him though. He was being a good sport. She was really surprised that he had accepted her offer to come anyway.

The door creaked open and Dr. Ken, a small aging man walked inside holding a clipboard and wearing a grin.

"Congratulations Ms. Brief! You're having a baby!"

She smiled to appease the doctor. "How far along am I?" she asked, sitting up.

"It appears as though you're somewhere around three to four weeks pregnant," Dr. Ken responded, sitting on a stool and scooting closer to her bed. "I'm going to schedule you for your first real prenatal appointment in just a few weeks so that we can get you and your baby the best care available."

He continued.

"The baby right now is undergoing a lot of activity. He or she is going to grow a little, implant itself even further into the uterine lining and start developing some organs." He glanced at his clipboard. "You're going to be a little fatigued during this stage but no major worries there. You may have tender breasts soon, perhaps some nausea… I don't expect this will happen until a little later on in the pregnancy if at all. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Can she still exercise?" Yamcha cut in. "When will she need to be off her feet?"

The doctor smiled. "Ah, a nervous young father I see!"

Bulma gave Yamcha a look of happiness and did not bother to correct the old doctor.

"Don't worry. Until the second trimester there's no need to worry about excessive symptoms of any kind. Anything else?"

"Nope!" Bulma exclaimed before Yamcha could say anything else. "Thanks a lot Dr. Ken!"

"No problem, Bulma. A nurse will be in here soon to schedule your next appointment."

He stood up and shook both Yamcha and Bulma's outstretched hands. "Good luck you two!"

Bulma watched him leave, a tiny smile implating itself on her face much like her baby had done to her. It was so overwhelming and yet, knowing that inside of her at that very moment was a little creature that would look like her, love her, and need her... it was almost too much happiness for one person to bear.

She was surprised, yes. Had been a little thoughtless, of course. But she was happy.

Absolutely.

* * *

_A/N_: Another chapter bites the dust! Almost there everyone! Stay tuned for more!


	20. The Last Thread

**A/N**: It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you… without a dope story to review. In case anyone's interested, I've gone to the trouble of editing all of the previous chapters to make them more readable. There are tons of page breaks to indicate when the character voice changes, etc. Anyway- thanks for reading! I've really missed you guys!

**DISCLAIMER**: Not gonna happen today.

* * *

The Saiyan prince remained still as the woman groggily exited the bed, flung open the bedroom door, and disappeared into the dark hallway. He heard the bathroom door slide open and the splash of vomit into the toilet bowl water.

It was a nightly routine that absolutely revolted Vegeta, but what could he do about it? At least she never tried to initiate conversation with him afterward so he could pretend to sleep as long as he wanted. To be frank, her sickness didn't bother him; Vegeta had dealt with far worse than throw-up where he was from. However, he was still not completely sure how to handle her condition. Typically he stayed awake until she fell back asleep. He didn't know what else to do.

The bedroom door cracked and the woman padded lightly over to the enormous bed the two shared almost every night now. Slipping under the covers, sweaty, she gave an exhausted sounding sigh.

"Vegeta, are you awake?"

He didn't move.

Sighing again, the woman inched closer to his body and closed her eyes. Moments later, her breathing turned deep and steady. She had fallen asleep.

Vegeta copied her for a few seconds more and then very slowly opened one eye.

A pair of blue eyes stared back at him.

"Fuck," he reprimanded himself aloud, opening both eyes and staring at the ceiling guiltily.

She lifted her face from her pillow and stared at Vegeta with an arched brow.

"You are not that much of a dick."

Oh, but he was. Vegeta rolled his eyes and turned over, not awake enough for an argument. Unfortunately for him, she was.

"Every night I'm puking my guts out and you just lay there pretending to be asleep!"

Vegeta couldn't deny this.

"Do I even need to bring up that this is your fault?" the woman cried, sounding indignant. "Would it kill you to hold my hair while I'm _carrying_ _your_ _child_?"

Vegeta grunted. "I'm not aware of your earth customs woman. What does that mean, _hold your hair_? Why would I do that? I won't walk around grabbing onto your head at your leisure."

Her look was incredulous. "Oh Kame, you're fucking kidding me."

It was at least silent now. The woman buried her face in her pillow and began saying words that Vegeta couldn't quite hear. He figured that was for his benefit.

"Just forget it," she finally said, pushing the blankets off and sitting up. "I'm going to get a drink from the kitchen. Do you want anything?"

He didn't answer and she didn't return.

* * *

The blond woman on the screen flashed a pretty smile and raised her hands high in the air.

"Come on girls! You can do it! Reach for the sky!"

Bulma was having a hard time keeping up with exercise because of how nauseous she felt but she was around a group of people she preferred had no idea how she was feeling.

"Come on, Bulma! Stop being lazy! Shake what your mama gave you!"

Bulma growled but refused to acknowledge the old man. It was a trick she had learned in dealing with Master Roshi.

"Are you feeling alright?" asked Krillin, panting as he jogged in place.

Bulma nodded, out of breath. The trim girl on the television was absolutely putting her through the wringer. It was just that every time she thought of having a baby, Bulma began to panic.

"And rest!" cried the trainer and a moment later the screen displayed several women laying on their exercise mats, looking awfully unworked and chipper.

Bulma and Krillin had been at this exercise for several hours in the small living room of the Kame House. They had even pushed back the coffee table for more room. Master Roshi sat with his feet propped up on the cushioned couch, tapping his cane to the beat of the exercise music. Even Turtle joined in the activity, shouting encouragement whenever it was appropriate.

"This is the most fun I've had all week!" Master Roshi exclaimed as the cameraman went in for a close up on the host's upper body.

"Oh, can it old man!" Bulma said disdainfully, rolling her eyes. "Those girls are a third your age."

"You mean a sixteenth his age," Krillin corrected, rubbing his calves.

A long cane whacked Krillin on his bald head.

"I'd ask why you aren't training with Goku, but I guess that's a rhetorical question at this point," Master Roshi said. "Bulma's more your speed I guess."

Bulma put her hand over Krillin's opened mouth, sick of the arguing between the two. It really could go on forever. What with her constant arguing with Vegeta looming over her, she couldn't take it anymore.

"I think I need a break," she said, plopping down in the middle of the carpet and swallowing a wave of nausea. "I haven't worked out in so long it's ridiculous."

"Well you can't tell," said Krillin, "You're as skinny as you've always been. You've got some great genes."

"I'll say she does," Master Roshi cut in. "Bulma, how's that mother of yours, eh? Still hot as a skillet?"

Bulma opened her mouth to respond but Krillin interrupted.

"Do you feel that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Master Roshi stood next to Krillin, frowning. "Let's find out, huh?"

Bulma followed them out of the door, the sound of the ocean waves beating upon the sand making her queasier by the minute. She almost asked her friends who they were waiting for when she saw him herself.

Vegeta lowered to the ground, his boots sinking slightly in the sand. He didn't look at either man as he directed his gaze at Bulma.

"And just where have you been?"

"Well gee Vegeta, I have no idea." Bulma turned to the others. "Hey Krillin, just where have I been all this time?"

Vegeta curled his upper lip but he had no time to provide a snarky quip, because just then Bulma's insides decided to display themselves all over his boots.

"Aagh!" he shouted and leapt back so fast that he nearly fell over to avoid the vomit.

Bulma felt another wave of nausea and puked once more, this time on the sand. She squeezed her cramping stomach as the feeling began to creep its way back into her throat once again. But something was different. Her neck felt lighter, as if some weight had been lifted off of it.

She realized as she began to puke again, that Vegeta was actually holding her hair. She would have thanked him had she not felt as though she were going to die.

"What's going on with her, Vegeta?" came Krillin's accusing voice from across the beach. "Why's she so sick all of a sudden?"

"She's not well you moron," Vegeta answered. "Now shut up and grab me a towel."

Krillin walked away, reminding Vegeta on his way out that he was only doing so to help Bulma, whose condition he would personally reporting to Goku.

"I-I'm alright now," Bulma stated, out of breath. "Really, I'm okay now."

Her mouth tasted sour, but the nausea really had dissipated. Krillin returned with a towel and she thanked him, wiping her mouth and holding herself up as best she could. Unfortunately the act of throwing up had depleted her energy. She stumbled backward into Vegeta, who steadied her by grabbing onto her arm.

"I'm taking you home, woman," he said gruffly, lifting her a few feet off of the ground.

She didn't argue.

* * *

Vegeta sat stiffly on the couch, one hand on the woman's neck, the other on her back as she lay face down on his lap. He was sending warm pulses of energy through her in a last ditch effort to end her torturous whining. The woman constantly complained of aching neck and back muscles.

"Oh, this feels so good," she moaned, "I don't even want to know how you got so good at this."

Curse his guilt! Had the woman not made such a big deal about keeping vomit out of her hair, he'd be in the gravity room doing something useful.

He grunted and stared straight ahead.

"I can't wait until this is all over with," she said then, shifting so that she was facing him. "I mean, I don't necessarily want to go through the whole birth process, but I'm really excited to see who the baby looks like."

Vegeta snorted. "As if there will be any doubt."

"I'm serious, Vegeta," the woman said. "Aren't you just the teensiest bit curious?"

"No."

She rolled her eyes. "I hope it's a girl. If it's a boy I'm afraid it's going to be a first class jerk."

Vegeta looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "That needn't be your first concern. Believe me, woman."

She looked up at him. "What exactly is that supposed to mean? I don't plan on raising a Vegeta Jr., so let's get that straight right away buddy."

He arched an eyebrow. "If the child is truly half-Saiyan, there will be nothing you can do about its temperament. For this reason, its gender is of no concern to me."

She swatted his hands off of her and sat straight up until both he and the woman were eye-to-eye. "Gohan happens to be the sweetest, most gentle child that I have ever known and-"

"-and has a love for fighting that I, having been on the defensive end of one of his attacks, believe is even greater than I or Kakarot's," interrupted Vegeta matter-of-factly.

"You think it might have something to do with being half-human?" asked the woman as she peered down at her stomach. "Humans are weak by Saiyan standards but…"

"Modern earthlings demonstrate a remarkable resistance to domination and seek power at greater lengths than I am accustomed. On my home planet, we Saiyans accepted our statuses without complaint. Our primal motivation lay in fighting." Vegeta paused. "It is my belief that halflings possess traits which are to be envied by both species."

"Not to mention that they end up a lot more emotional," the woman said with a smile. "We could use more Saiyans like that around here."

"Kakarot is plenty emotional for us all," Vegeta said, his left eye involuntarily twitching.

Laughing, the woman lay back down, using his lap like she used a mattress. The television show she began to watch was so boring that Vegeta actually began to drift off, his surroundings becoming blurred. His eyelids heavy with sleep, the prince closed his eyes and began to lose himself in reds and oranges. His breathing became long and even, his hands relaxed. He thought he might feel the woman's eyelashes on his cheek as she slowly pecked his lips and rested her head on his shoulder.

Just the two of them now, nothing else existed except the quiet sounds of the television and the ceiling fan overhead.

An odd sensation struck Vegeta, as if he was being watched, and he woke up and looked around.

"What's the matter?" the woman asked, following his gaze around the room.

He didn't answer. Because he could not immediately determine what was emitting the diminutive ki he could feel, Vegeta sniffed the air. The old man and his wife were probably around somewhere, but he could not detect their presence. Besides, he was almost certain that they had gone for the afternoon.

"Come _on_ you!" exclaimed the woman. "I know you can sense someone."

She put a hand to her mouth and grabbed onto his t-shirt. "Oh, no! Is there a burglar?"

"Shut up!" he answered, but he allowed her to hold onto him. "Who cares if it's a burglar anyway?"

Still, he was concerned. The ki was so slight that Vegeta wondered if he had imagined it; if it were the Androids though he should keep up his guard.

He looked directly at the blue haired woman whose eyes were large with anxiety and it dawned on him almost instantly. Sure enough, after a few seconds had passed, he could detect it once more.

"It's you," he said with disbelief. "Incredible."

She looked terrified. "Me? What? What's going on, Vegeta?"

"The baby," he answered in a quiet voice, amazed. "I can sense the child growing inside of you."

The woman leapt off of the couch and gave a shriek of exultance.

"Oh wow! Vegeta! This is… oh my! Yes!"

She began exploring her belly, lifting up her shirt and dancing around the room. Vegeta watched quietly; he was dizzy with the knowledge that he had fathered a child. He had been told many weeks ago, but it felt as if he were hearing it for the first time all over again.

She was having a baby.

It was his.

He was having a baby.

Vegeta clamped his jaw shut, unwilling to appease his sudden panic.


	21. Congratualtions, It's A

**A/N:** In case anyone cares, the car that Bulma drives in this chapter is a Toyota iQ and if you google it, you won't regret it.

**DISCLAIMER**: If I say 'google' do I have to do a disclaimer for that too?

* * *

Bunny whistled to herself as she folded the comforter over the clothes line outside. She had too many dryers to count and enough eager Capsule Corporation interns to do her laundry for the next one thousand years, but she just loved the smell of clean clothes.

"Da da da da da," she hummed, "da da da da da."

She snapped a clothes pin.

"_I've wandered around, finally found, somebody who_…."

True, she was usually in a good mood, but today she was in an even better mood than she usually was. She was going to be a grandmother and she had started working on blueprints for a nursery with some very handsome workmen.

"Could make me be true!" sang Bunny with her head tilted toward the hot sun.

"Whoa, could make me be blue!" said a deeper voice from behind her.

Bunny whipped around, startled but not embarrassed. She thought she had a lovely singing voice, thank you very much.

Her husband, the purple-haired scientist she had fallen in love with decades ago, wrapped his arms around her and gave her a lingering smooch. "Good afternoon, dear!"

"Hi there, stranger!" Bunny replied. She hadn't seen her husband all day and the night before she had fallen asleep before he had gotten into bed. "Did you finish what you were working on?"

She had no idea what her husband or daughter did in the lab and she wasn't all that interested. It just made her husband so happy to be asked about his work.

"Well," he began excitedly, "last night I finally got started on a time machine!"

Bunny dropped a handful of clothespins onto the grass and clapped her hands together excitedly. "You're kidding!"

"Of course I am!" her husband said with a furrowed brow. "I can't even replicate the one I've seen!"

"Well, what _are_ you doing then?" she asked, annoyed at her husband's teasing.

"To be honest," he answered, stroking his moustache with a thoughtful expression, "I haven't been up to very much. I did realize that Bulma's going to need new things for the baby. I've started working on a very high tech crib that I think she'll fall in love with."

Bunny squinted in the bright sunlight. "Isn't it a bit too early to be thinking about a crib? I haven't broken ground on the nursery yet! Ooh! Let's just use that guestroom down the hall!"

Her husband seemed to be thinking about her idea, which made her happy. He hardly thought about her ideas because he was so busy with his own.

"You know, I think that's a splendid idea! And maybe we can put an extra bed with the nursery, for Bulma!"

The woman giggled. "Honey, Bulma and Vegeta share a room. That poor man will be left all alone if she sleeps with the baby instead! He'll be beside himself with worry!"

Dr. Brief sighed. "I'm not sure how much longer that's going to last," he said. "Vegeta's a loner. I can't help but think that their union will be short-lived. Besides, the two are just so darned different! Bulma's bright and outgoing… and Vegeta has the personality of a spoiled turnip."

Bunny was instantly exasperated. "Now look here!" she exclaimed, reaching down to pick up the clothes she had dropped earlier, "Bulma and Vegeta are absolutely perfect for each other! They'll last forever, you watch!"

The older man mumbled something that Bunny paid no attention to. It didn't matter if her silly husband refused to believe in love; she was going to believe enough for both of them. Her daughter and Vegeta weren't only perfect for one another; they were the exact same person! She put a pin in her mouth and began hanging a large sheet. Men!

They were so short-sighted, weren't they?

* * *

A gaggle of geese were slowly making their way across the front yard of Capsule Corp. Bulma Brief, on her way to the mall for a wonderful shopping excursion and a massage or two, hopped on her toes between them to avoid them.

She knew she looked like an idiot, and she could have chosen to go another route, but she was just in such a good mood! At four months pregnant, her morning sickness had finally slowed and the recent fatigue she had been experiencing seemed to have disappeared.

"Just where do you think _you're_ going?"

Vegeta's gruff voice reached her from all the way across the lawn. He stood to her left with his arms folded in typical Saiyan prince stance, glowering.

"Shopping," Bulma answered with a smile, knowing that very soon there was going to be an argument, "and you can come if you want."

He curled his upper lip. "As if, woman. Now go inside. As I recall, you aren't supposed to be moving about in your condition."

Instantly the young woman became indignant. "I am _pregnant_ Vegeta. Not sick. I appreciate your concern but if I want to go out there's nothing that you can do about it!"

Perhaps he agreed because, nudging a large goose with his foot, he walked closer to her and pointed a strong index finger into her face. "You're not to lift anything heavy. Understand?"

His concern was genuine and she could tell. It made her a little weak inside; Vegeta had been trying so hard lately. It was really sweet actually. She wasn't used to it yet.

"Uh-huh. By the way," Bulma added, remembering that it was already the afternoon, "If you get hungry, mom's been dying to get someone to try her new turkey casserole. And don't blow up the gravity room, alright?"

He rolled his eyes, turned and walked away.

Bulma watched him disappear around a corner and looked down at her feet. The geese had gathered under a tree a few yards away so she had a clear path to the road. As she began walking forward, she made a quick decision in her head and stopped in her tracks.

"_Vegeta!_" she shouted loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth. "_Vegeta, do you want to come too?"_

It was such a loud call that the peaceful geese all took off into the air. Bulma was pretty sure that the Saiyan prince had heard, so when he didn't answer she took his answer in the negative. Still, it didn't bother her too much. Vegeta had a lot to do. His exit from the gravity room a few moments ago had been the first all weeklong.

_So fucking intense_, thought Bulma, walking onto the pavement and looking around.

She tossed a capsule onto the pavement, exposing a tiny white two-seater. It was her 'me' car. No one, not even her parents, had gotten a ride in it before. Bulma hopped inside and started the ignition. She stepped on the gas with her sandaled feet as hard as she could; the brakes screeched on the pavement and she took off into the daylight.

* * *

Vegeta smashed his fist against the control panel and the simulation that had him at 400 times earth's gravity came to a grinding halt. He felt the pressure leave his body and the sweat flowing from his body slowed. He gasped for air.

"DAMN YOU VEGETA!" he shouted, sinking to his knees and watching blood from his brow drip onto the floor.

How long would it take? He was already older than Kakarot and that moron had turned Super Saiyan long ago! Now he was training his son; no doubt he was turning the boy into the same thing. Were they all laughing at him?

Vegeta wiped his forehead and filled his lungs with air. He was getting desperate now. No matter how long or how hard he trained, it seemed impossible for him to attain his destiny.

"STUPID DESTINY!"

It was getting harder and harder to concentrate. Perhaps he ought to eat. He ought to do anything to get the hell out of that blasted room. It was maddening, training with such a negative mentality about his short-comings. If only he could forget every conversation he had ever had with his imperious, stringent father. It was all he could do not to blast himself for being such a pathetic idiot.

Panting, Vegeta got to his feet and opened the gravity room doors. That woman had invited him out over an hour ago and he hardly expected her to be back already. An argument with her might make him forget about his so-called 'destiny' and whatever else was bothering him. He was incensed that she had left him alone but he did not know why.

Bright sunlight stung his eyes. He looked around, stomach growling. Despite his hunger, Vegeta had no desire to ask that giggling blond woman for food. What he really wanted was to take his mind off of his wounded pride.

He walked into the large half-sphere building and dragged his feet up the stairs and onto the second floor. By the time Vegeta had made it to the bathroom, he was naked. His clothes littered the hall behind him like the story about the gingerbread house and breadcrumbs.

The shower was never as calming as he expected it to be; the hot drops of water pouring down his flesh served only to drown the sounds of his environment. He was in his own head again; it was a place he did not want to be.

* * *

It wasn't something she was proud of, but when Bulma Brief went shopping, she _went shopping_. She spent so much money that she always felt as though she were keeping West City's economy afloat all on her own. It was a good thing she had thought to bring a few capsules to place all of her bags or she wouldn't be able to walk.

Bulma sighed and plopped down on a sofa in a tiny lounge in the middle of the mall. After being shoved around and deafened by hundreds of other busy shoppers, Bulma was in need of a rest. Not to mention that her back was beginning to hurt a lot and she had a feeling it had a little to do with the ten pounds she had recently put on.

"Bulma? Is that you?"

The woman looked sideways and gave a genuine smile when she saw that it was Yamcha. She waved him over and scooted sideways on the couch. "It's really cushiony," she added when he plopped down next to her.

He was looking better. His hair was nicely trimmed and he was freshly shaved. He wore a red cap that was tilted to the side and more importantly, he looked happy.

"How's baseball going?" Bulma asked, remembering that the two of them hadn't seen each other in several weeks ever since Yamcha had decided to start playing the sport again. He was really good too.

"Got a couple groupies," Yamcha answered, placing one hand behind his head and leaning back. "Every man's success is measured by the number of groupies they have."

Bulma raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what if they're twelve? Does that count too?"

He flushed red; Bulma was well-aware that Yamcha's biggest fans were the girls from the middle school with the large baseball field where he played.

"You add the ages together," he retorted. He rolled his eyes. "So I guess there's no need to ask what you're doing here. Is there anything left for the rest of us?"

"I have literally been picking out baby clothes and putting them back and picking out baby clothes and blah, blah, blah for an eternity it seems like," she whined. "I mean… don't get me wrong. I love shopping for myself. But I can never decide on anything at all when it comes to the baby!"

Yamcha looked amused. "So you bought everything?"

She shook her head. "That's where you're wrong! I don't even know what sex the baby is yet. I've only been buying unisex onesies and whatnot. Whatever the baby is, I hope they like green and yellow."

He shook his head and stared at her. She stared at him back, feeling slightly awkward, given their history. Sometimes it was too easy to forget that this guy had been her everything.

Bulma stood up, grabbed Yamcha's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. You've been appointed my new helper."

With Yamcha at her side, Bulma decided to hit a small furniture shop that sold diaper stations, changing tables, and cribs. Bulma could tell that Yamcha was having fun. In fact, he seemed to be having a lot more fun than she was.

"Hey B, look at this one!" he exclaimed, pointing at a bright pink changing table with smiley faces printed on the tiny mattress. He gave her what a dopey smile. "It looks like that ugly scarf you used to wear."

"Thanks," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I made that scarf myself you know."

He gave her a one-armed hug. "I remember. Knitting is your forte… much like cooking."

Bulma let him laugh, feeling a little like she should have left Yamcha to shop by himself. At the same time it was nice to have someone's company once in a while. She hadn't told anyone about her pregnancy besides her ex-boyfriend and parents. Also, both of her parents had been spending a lot of time with one another and Vegeta had been training day in and day out for the past few weeks. She was sort of lonely. Asking Vegeta to come with her to the mall had been more than a casual question. She had legitimately needed some company.

"What about this one?" she asked, pointing out a pink wooden station with a built in space mobile. She tapped a bright fingernail against the large crystal sun and sent it spinning. "That's pretty, isn't it?"

Yamcha looked repulsed. "I don't care if it's a boy or girl; no kid of mine would be caught dead in that thing."

The two fell silent. Bulma felt so incredibly uncomfortable after that sentence that she could not look Yamcha in the eye. It was a terribly long five seconds before she felt comfortable enough to speak.

"Yamcha, I-"

"-Bulma, I-"

They paused, each trying to apologize for the awkwardness and each unable to. Bulma smiled a little in an attempt to ease things over. "Let's get out of here and grab something to eat. I'm so hungry I feel like I could eat as much as Goku."

Yamcha grinned.

"Then let's go to an all-you-can-eat because that's a whole fucking lot."

They laughed and Yamcha looked very at ease, which made Bulma feel much better. He looked so relaxed in fact that Bulma was startled when his expression hardened.

"What's wrong, Yamcha?" she asked, grabbing onto his forearm. "Did you sense something?"

He growled. "Yeah, I sensed something alright."

Bulma whipped around and blinked to make sure that her eyesight hadn't failed her. Was she imagining this, or had Prince Vegeta of all Saiyans really stepped a royal foot in the middle of West City's most populous galleria?

"Vegeta?"

He raised one eyebrow in response, but the rest of his body remained unmoving. It was a funny sight really, the prince in all black in the middle of the baby furniture store, surrounded by bright green, yellow, blue and pink diaper stations.

"What's _he_ doing here?" asked Yamcha from behind her, sounding accusatory.

Bulma glanced at him from the corner of her blue eyes and focused on the dark ones in front of her. "I don't know to tell the truth. I invited him a long time ago but I didn't think he'd actually show his face around here."

Yamcha made a sound in his throat. "Well three's a crowd. Guess I'll be getting out of here."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Oh quit it, Yamcha. We're still going to lunch if you're hungry." She looked at Vegeta, still confused about his presence but willing to cooperate. "Did you want to come with us?"

Vegeta grunted. "Right."

"I mean it," Bulma said, and she really did too. She would have loved to spend time with Vegeta, especially since she saw him so rarely. "

He looked like he really might do it; she could see it in his normally expressionless eyes. But then Yamcha stepped forward and broke their eye contact.

"I forgot I have practice today," he said to her, sounding as though he had never successfully lied to a woman before. "Gotta go. See you later, okay?"

He waved quickly and began quickly walking toward the exit. Bulma shouting for him to wait did nothing except bother a few of the shoppers nearby who made faces at her outburst.

Angry at Vegeta for chasing her only friend away, Bulma stalked out of the store. She did not have to turn around to know that Vegeta had followed behind her.

"Thanks a lot!" she exclaimed, pushing past a group of skateboard wielding preteens.

Vegeta was in front of her so fast that she didn't see it coming. He glared at her.

"I didn't come to argue with you," he said darkly, "so if that's what you want then forget it."

"Well why _are_ you here?" Bulma asked, lowering her voice when she realized that people were staring at her, probably wondering if she was _the_ Bulma Brief. "You didn't exactly seem thrilled at my earlier invitation."

The heiress looked around at all the people milling about and shook her head in wonder. "And why would you? We're surrounded by humans."

Vegeta ignored her and glanced sideways. "What is this place, woman?"

"The mall."

He looked suspicious. "I thought you said you were going shopping. You haven't got any bags."

She patted a tiny, bumpy pocket on her jean shorts. "Capsule corporation to the rescue. Now, are you going to admit that you came to spy on me or what?"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed a bit. "Don't flatter yourself. I have no desire to spy on you."

"I don't believe you," she said. "You ran off Yamcha."

An actual smile played on Vegeta's lips but it went away as quickly as it came. "That doesn't concern me. I only came to make sure you're doing as I ordered."

Bulma leaned forward so that she was centimeters from his face. She felt warm inside knowing that he was lying to her face about why he had come. She couldn't let him know she had caught on however, or he'd never make an effort like this again.

"As you can see _sir_," she huffed, "I've done exactly as you asked. No heavy lifting. Just taking the baby for walks and all that jazz. So, if you have nothing else to do, how about walking me back to the car?"

She took his hand and began leading him toward a set of doors. Vegeta allowed himself to be pulled by her, but there was an obvious show of resistance.

"Do you really have to be so difficult?" she asked him as she walked. "I feel like you're my child or something."

He snorted. "If that child has my genetics, I doubt you'll be able to pull them from a store."

"Here we go," Bulma said as she walked through glass plate doors and sunlight hit her face. "Oh please, _please_ tell me how I'm going to be a terrible mother to our unborn baby."

He released his hand as they approached her car. Bulma unlocked the car door and opened the driver door, leaning over the roof of the car with her chin in her hands.

"Let's have it all," she said impatiently, "Is there anything you'd like to add?"

Vegeta stood at the passenger side, his arms folded against his chest. "There are two things that you will need to understand, woman. Firstly, raising a Saiyan child is a difficult job, even for the most accomplished. You will be lucky to survive it. And secondly, _what the fuck_ _is _that_ supposed to be_?"

He was pointing at her tiny car and making an ugly face.

Bulma widened her eyes and bent further over the top of the car. "Are you kidding me? This is the cutest thing ever! And you better learn to like it because that's what we're going home in!"

Vegeta backed away. "It isn't fit for a man."

"Vegeta, really."

"I refuse."

"All this talk about making sure I'm okay and you won't even ride home with me to make sure I get home safe?" Bulma asked, batting her eyelashes.

Vegeta shrugged. "So be it. Encapsulate the car and I'll fly you back instead."

"In a few months I'll be so fat I won't be able to get behind the steering wheel of this thing so _no_," Bulma answered indignantly, "I'll drive home myself."

He paused, looked at the car and shook his head.

"Suit yourself," she told him, lowering herself into the car and fastening her seatbelt. "But it was a big deal, me asking you to get in with me and everything."

She looked out of the passenger window, expecting to see Vegeta, but he was nowhere to be found. He had already left.

A little disappointed, Bulma started the ignition and backed out of her parking space. A shadow quickly covered the sun and she looked into the rearview mirror. A smile slowly tinged her bright pink lips.

Vegeta was so far above her that she could barely make him out, but there he was nonetheless.

"Might as well make it worth his while."

* * *

The tiny white car was reckless, zipping past slower red and black dots, swerving across multiple lanes of traffic to get off highway ramps. Vegeta wondered if his presence had anything to do with the woman's boldness. Did all earthlings drive this dangerously? He was glad he had chosen to follow after her, if only to save other's lives if need be.

A cool breeze ruffled his hair. The higher he went in altitude, the colder he became until he was covered in goose bumps. He lazily emitted a warm energy around himself so that the change in temperature did not bother him. He lost sight of Bulma's car and tried to sense her. It was challenging given that the woman's power level was essentially negative.

He found her only when the familiar tingling sensation reached a readable intensity. Vegeta could hardly believe the human race had survived so long on its own. His child had already surpassed every earthling Vegeta had come into contact with, unless those earthlings happened to know Kakarot.

Thinking of Kakarot put Vegeta in a bad mood, so he began to think of food instead. He was rapidly growing hungry. There was casserole or something… it did not matter so long as there was something that had once been alive cooked inside of it.

He looked down and saw the white car pass a large truck.

What had she seen in that long-haired buffoon anyway?

Yamcha wasn't his equal in any recognizable way. On planet Vegeta, he would have been lucky to be a third class soldier. The idiot was hardly capable of holding his own in a fight. He was so weak and lazy that killing him had been a waste of time and effort. Not that Yamcha's lack of existence on earth had done anything except improve the planet.

It made no sense to him whatsoever. What wasn't he getting?

The highway ended and a short drive around a ramp led the woman to a long winding road. Here there were no cars at all and Vegeta became level with tree tops, moving only to miss running into the occasional building.

His mind should really be on more important things, like the androids.

"I'm losing it," he mumbled as a twinge of pain stung his temples.

Finally the woman's home loomed into view and he was able to lower himself so that he only hovered a few feet off of the ground. His stomach growled irritably.

"Vegeta, honey!"

He hadn't noticed the woman's mother sitting outside in a folding chair, sipping a bright pink drink.

He nodded in her direction but didn't say anything. He normally didn't say anything unless she was offering him something to eat, and she wasn't doing that yet.

A screech of tires and a set of squealing brakes later, the woman arrived in the driveway. She opened the car door and waved to her mother excitedly.

"I bet you can't wait to see what I've got for the baby!" she stated eagerly, emptying her pockets into her mother's hands.

One of the capsules exploded accidentally and Vegeta watched as the smoke cleared, displaying a set of pale yellow shirts that one could snap shut at the bottom. They were printed with various pictures of animals.

"Oh my goodness Bulma!" exclaimed the blonde, "These are absolutely adorable! Oh sweetheart I just can't wait to see the baby in these! That one is my favorite!"

It was covered in pink penguins wearing overalls. Vegeta felt his left eye twitch.

"Darling, what do you think of this?" the woman's mother had the nerve to ask, setting her drink down and standing up. She waved the penguin-patterned nightmare in his face.

This was more of a headache than training. He turned to face the blue-haired woman.

"How _could_ you?" he asked in disbelief. "I demand that you show me everything you've bought!"

She placed her hands on her hips. "Quiet down, Vegeta. I'll show you the rest once we get inside!" She smiled at her mother. "Is there more of that lemonade left, mom?"

Her mother giggled. "Sorry dear, but you can't have any of this! Doctor's orders you know!" She clapped her hands together. "I'll go get you a nice water though! Sit tight!"

She disappeared inside and Bulma began to encapsulate her purchases.

Vegeta's other eye twitched.

"Didn't you _hear_ me, woman? I want to see the rest of these monstrous bodysuits!"

"Chill out!" she yelled back. "If you don't like them, _tough_! I asked you to come along!"

It was true and he could hardly argue. Still, it just seemed so unfair. When he thought back to that time he had been forced to wear that ridiculous pink shirt and yellow trousers he was infuriated!

"No! I won't allow it!" he shouted. "I won't allow you to dress our son like a flower!"

"I'll dress _my_ son however I want to, got it?" Bulma said as she pointed a finger in his face. "And… and…."

She clutched her stomach in her hands and fell silent.

"What is it?" Vegeta asked, alarmed at her sudden change in behavior. "Tell me!"

The woman looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. "You said… you said it was… our son…"

So she hadn't known it was a boy. He supposed her doctors hadn't told her as much. He wasn't sure how to react to her question. Gender had never really mattered to him.

"Can you tell?" she wanted to know. "Is it really a boy? Do you know?"

"Of course I know," Vegeta answered, feeling surly now that she had questioned his abilities. "It's a boy."

He expected her to yell at him about not letting her know sooner, but that didn't happen at all. Instead she took her mother's place near the front door and sat down. Her eyes were unfocused. He wasn't used to her not responding physically, so he knelt beside her.

Her eyes were watery.

"It's a boy," she said, the words quavering. "You gave me a little boy."

Vegeta didn't reply because he still didn't know what to do. Earthlings were so emotional all of the time. It was their biggest weakness in his opinion.

The front door opened and Bunny pranced out, holding a tall glass of water.

"Here you go!" she sang, leaning over to hand it to her daughter.

"It's a boy, mom," revealed the woman. "Vegeta said it's a boy!"

The blonde woman immediately put both hands over her mouth and dropped the glass she was carrying. It shattered into hundreds of pieces and water splashed over her front but it did not seem to worry her at all. She bent down and grabbed her daughter in her arms with a strength that Vegeta had never seen from her.

"Honey!" she exclaimed. "That's simply wonderful!"

Vegeta saw his one opportunity while the women embraced. Looking upward to avoid suspicion, he sent a pea-sized blast into the pile of animal printed clothes. They instantly disintegrated without anyone noticing.

There… now he could celebrate too.


	22. Dream Weaver

**A/N: **Alright. A reviewer mentioned that my chapters weren't really that long, so here's one that's nearly double the length of the last one. MUST... SLEEP... NOW.

**DISCLAIMER: **My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

* * *

In a long-sleeved red shirt and denim overalls, Bulma felt a lot like a certain Nintendo character. To be more specific, she felt like the pregnant version, unable to choose which color to paint the walls of a nursery. Now she lay on the newspaper covered floor of an unused guestroom, squinting at the smooth white ceiling, so deep in thought she had no idea how much time had passed.

It was going to be a boy. Blue was the traditional color, but Bulma had never really been keen on following tradition. She could follow her earlier line of thought when she had gone shopping a few weeks ago and just pick a neutral color.

She frowned when she thought of all the clothes Vegeta had blown up.

The door to the guestroom opened and Bulma glanced up in time to see her father enter, adjusting his glasses as he looked around.

"Well dear, you've been in here for about an hour," Dr. Brief said, leaning against the doorway, crinkling newspaper with his large shoes. "I don't see very much accomplished in here."

Bulma nodded in agreement. "Can't argue with you there dad," she replied. "Every time I try to start I think of something else to do instead."

She sat up and propped herself up on her palms. "For example, all I want to do is paint this room so that I can coordinate furniture, but every time that I pick a color, there's something wrong with it."

Her father hitched up his khaki pants and took a seat next to her on the floor. "Blue?"

Bulma sighed. "Too old-fashioned."

"White."

"Too plain."

"Brown."

"Too woodsy."

"Yellow."

"Too bright."

"Red."

"Not a pastel."

"Gray?"

Bulma shot her dad a look. "See what I mean? I'm hopeless."

The engineers were silent for a moment. Bulma leaned forward and rest her head on her father's shoulder. It was nice just to be quiet and think.

"What are the two of you doing!" cried a high-pitched voice from the hallway.

It was Bunny and it wasn't a question. She looked around wildly, her eyes wide and full of anxiety. "This room hasn't been touched at all!"

"Mom-" started Bulma but she was cut off by a glare and her mother's stern placement of her hands on her hips.

"This baby's not coming tomorrow, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, stomping toward the middle of the room and glancing upward. "Both of you _get out_!"

Dr. Brief helped Bulma to her feet and both of them scrambled to the doorway to get out of the blond woman's way.

"Don't come back here until I say so!" she said, and she closed the door in their faces.

"She did this to me when you were born," proclaimed Dr. Brief, shaking his head and leading Bulma away from the unfinished nursery. "I was to remain twenty feet from your nursery at all times until the minute you were born. It's really adorable, actually."

Bulma smiled as her father walked in the opposite direction. Thinking of her parents those few decades ago made her melt. There was a picture of the two of them holding her near a swimming pool on her nightstand. She wondered if it would ever be like that for her own son; Vegeta was so withdrawn and antisocial. He'd never even been near the Olympic-sized pool in the backyard.

Speaking of Vegeta, it had been awhile since she'd seen him; it was time to pay him a visit. Bulma descended the stairs gingerly, not wanting to give her unborn child the sensation that he was on a roller coaster just yet. It took a little longer than usual to get outside because of that, but she was relieved to see that once she arrived at the GR, it was empty. She absolutely did not feel like interrupting that guy when he was in one of his moods.

It was strange that he was gone; Vegeta normally left the compound after a huge amount of food had been shoveled into his mouth and Bulma hadn't seen him near the kitchen. It was barely ten in the morning. Was it possible that he was still asleep? The idea that he'd be passed out in what he often referred to as 'late morning' was discerning.

Feeling slightly winded after all the extra exercise, Bulma made her way back into Capsule Corp and headed up the stairs. The door to Vegeta's room was closed and she paused in front of it, anxiety stopping her from storming in.

Sure, she had been in this position many times before; Vegeta's room wasn't some strange land she had never visited. It was merely that he had been more private than usual these past couple of weeks. A conversation between the two was a rare occurrence, and because of his exhausting training schedule, the two hadn't been sleeping in the same bed, let alone sharing a room. It caused her to hesitate and truthfully speaking, she didn't like it.

Her hand slipped around the brass doorknob and turned it until the door opened. She looked around. Morning light weakly spilled into the room by way of a curtained window. In the bed beneath it lay Vegeta, obscured by tangled sheets and blankets.

Bulma's heart skipped a beat when she saw him sleeping there, his eyes closed and his arms spread. He looked so peaceful, although she couldn't imagine how he managed to remain unconscious as she entered his room and shut the door behind her.

Why was his room so neat? The carpet, usually covered in the prince's dirty clothes and charred training accessories, was bare. A quick glance in the direction of the walk-in told Bulma that most of his clothes had been tidily hung on hangers. The only sign that Vegeta had been living in his room were the tank top and sweatpants draped across the headboard. An expensive pair of black and red Jordan's had been placed side by side near the nightstand.

Bulma gently took a seat on the side of the bed.

"Vegeta?" she whispered, leaning forward.

It happened in a single instant. One moment she was calling his name, the next he was gripping her neck with his hands, pinning her to the bed so hard that she could not fight back.

Fear exploded through her veins. She tried to scream, to kick, to do anything at all but it was useless. Vegeta was on top of her, his eyes were shut, and he was going to kill her!

"Vuh…" she managed to squeeze out, panic making her voice so high pitched it sounded more like a squeak than the beginning of the maniac's name. "…gee…"

His eyes fluttered open and his grasp became slack. For a moment he stared at her and Bulma could tell that he did not fully understand. She scrambled out of the bed so fast that she nearly fell over. She caught herself on the nightstand and banged into the edge of the closet door, slamming it shut. Her eyes were watering in pain and distrust. She grabbed her throat, feeling her heartbeat in her hands.

"You fool! Do you have a death wish, woman?"

Bulma could not answer, her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that Vegeta's angry voice could barely be heard over it.

He was standing next to her now, her chin being cocked the side as his fingers examined her throat. His expression was difficult to read.

"Did you hear me?" he asked her, staring straight into her eyes. "I could have killed you! Or have you forgotten that I'm not some weak human!"

She hadn't forgotten anything, but she hadn't expected him to attack her. She instinctively grabbed her stomach, perhaps a subconscious way to protect her child from the man in front of her. Still she felt unsafe. Her entire body shook from the scare.

"Answer me!" he demanded. "What's the matter with you?"

A tear dropped from the corner of her eye and onto the floor at her feet. Bulma was just as surprised as she imagined Vegeta was. She hadn't even felt the tears coming. She tried to move away from Vegeta's grip but it was too difficult. She struggled to catch her breath.

"L-let me g-g-go!"

He didn't seem to comprehend that statement because instead of letting her get away, he pulled her closer to him until her head was pressed against his chest. They stood there.

A million thoughts were racing through Bulma's head as her cheek lay pressed against his pounding heart. Goku had hurt her before, on more than one occasion. Even Yamcha had slammed her fingers in a car door once or twice. Krillin had run into her while he was trying to catch a football that one time not too long ago. Even her own father had singed a couple inches of her hair when he blew up some strange concoction in his lab. Bulma was used to boys playing too rough around her.

So why did this seem so different?

Was it because she was pregnant? Was it because she was a mother?

Was it because it wasn't an accident?

Bulma dared to look up. No… the way that his eyes stared out at something far in the distance… it had definitely been an accident. Her own heartbeat began to pulse at a semi-normal level. Vegeta would never purposely hurt her. He wouldn't even let her lift grocery bags.

"That was a mistake."

She knew that, but to hear the admission from Vegeta's very own lips was something else altogether.

"What?"

He released her, still staring off into space. "It wasn't my intention to harm you."

His dark eyes finally rested on hers. They slowly traveled to her neck and for a moment, Bulma swore she saw something flicker behind them. In the next instant he had picked her up and laid her on his unkempt bed. He yanked a cover from under her body and placed it over her instead. Then he sat down beside her and placed his right hand on her throat, which was beginning to feel painful.

A warm sensation spread through her neck and shoulders and Bulma felt instantly relieved.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked, feeling drowsy.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, ignoring her question. "How is the temperature?"

"It's okay," she mumbled, her eyelids closing.

"Don't get used to it," Vegeta said, but his voice sounded very far away.

Almost like he was somewhere else.

* * *

The screaming had finally ceased, though sounds of thunderous blasts and bursts of red and gold light overhead kept the young teenager from dozing off completely. He could smell smoke and charred remains too, but that was nothing to get all excited about.

"How long are they going to take?" Vegeta grumbled, his breath coming out in tiny, visible puffs of air. "Show-offs."

He stretched his arms outward and they cracked, having been in the same position for far too long. For several hours Vegeta had been lying on his back in an open field of dewy pink grass, looking beyond massive ice caves in the distance for the signal that his mission was completed. He was waiting rather impatiently because the temperature hovered at an uncomfortable wintry temperature. If he hadn't exhausted some of his ki for warmth, he'd be frozen solid, like much of the Planet Netto.

It was a shame it was being destroyed because the orb of ice was really quite striking, compared to a lot of the ugly mudballs he had visited. Netto was a tiny sphere of ice whose skies turned deep purples and blues, depending on which side was facing its miniature sun. There were mounds of snow covering mountains and trees, though none had fallen on the grass below. Methane lakes thrived deep under the frozen surface and the inhabitants exploited their presences by utilizing them to power everything from transporters to food processors.

The Nettese were remarkably intelligent too; they reminded Vegeta of the Truffles, a civilization of technologically advanced people that his father had once told him about. It was unfortunate that both races had refused to submit to Frieza, the self-proclaimed 'Lord of the Universe'.

Vegeta spat on the ground. Thinking of that overgrown lizard made his blood boil.

"Aha! There's the little brat now!" exclaimed a deep voice behind him.

The prince was quickly on his feet. His comrades, General Nappa and the highly-ranked Raditz stood in front of him, their golden armor bloody and dark with filth. With black hair, brown eyes and tanned skin, the three of them could have easily passed as brothers.

_Well, Raditz and myself_, thought Vegeta as he gave them both a once over. _Even though Raditz has hair like a woman, he's not a giant freak like Nappa._

But they were all he had right now. So be it.

"What took you so long?" Vegeta asked grumpily, wrinkling his nose. "My tail's frozen around my waist."

"Stop complaining kid," Nappa said, running a red-stained hand through the thinning patch of black hair on his head. He was truly the only one who could get away with calling fifteen-year-old Vegeta anything other than 'prince' and unfortunately he knew that. "We got the job done didn't we?"

Raditz, much closer to Vegeta's age than he would have liked to admit, plopped himself on the ground and began emptying one of his boots of snow and rubble. "Damn this place! I want to go home!"

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta scanned the vicinity. There was nothing standing; there was not a single building or person in sight. Everything had been turned to ash and dust. He agreed that the job was done. Now all they had to do was wait.

"Come on," Nappa said with a sneer, "destroying planets is fun, don't get me wrong-"

"-here we go again," moaned Raditz in the background.

"-but when are we going to be able to do these missions on our own? I don't need some so-called _overlord_ looking over me all the damned time! This planet trade organization can go to shit! I'm my own man!"

"Shut it, Nappa," Vegeta responded, having only heard a very small portion of the man's rant. He adjusted his scouter and glanced around. Frieza should have been back by now, but Vegeta had yet to detect his power level.

"Wanna know what's _really_ getting on my last nerve?" Raditz inquired, shoving his foot hard into his boot. "Frieza wouldn't even let us pick through their things! I'd have liked one or two transporters for my services. Which _by the way_, I saw in more than a few homes!"

Vegeta paid him no mind and stared up at the darkening lilac sky. He had never told anyone before, but it was his favorite color.

"There he is!"

The boy instant snapped to attention, his green scouter lighting up with the ancient symbols that made up the Saiyan language. Yes, _he_ had finally arrived. A silver craft became visible in the retreating sunlight.

"Stand at attention idiots!" ordered Vegeta, sending Nappa and Raditz angry glares. "Get rid of that stupid ponytail, Raditz! And don't cause any trouble, do you hear me?"

"Yes Prince Vegeta," they said in unison, sounding like they'd rather be saying anything else, but Vegeta couldn't have cared less. He knew they'd rather take orders from him than Frieza any day.

Vegeta took a few deep breaths. He was being harsh with his fellow Saiyans because he was nervous about what he had done. The three of them were supposed to have destroyed everything and not only had he not participated in the siege, but he had stolen a miniature Nettese-made telescope. It was hidden beneath his armor. He was in direct violation of Frieza's order not to take anything.

"He's here!" Raditz whispered.

Vegeta shivered in the cold. Frieza's personal ship whirred loudly, kicking up grass and ice-covered dirt as it landed a few feet from where he stood. Vegeta's sensitive ears hurt, but he stood as still as he could. He had learned the hard way that Frieza desired no sudden movements.

Time passed slowly while the ship door released and a set of stairs lowered onto the soil. Moments later, a pale lavender foot appeared on the top of the steps. It was quickly followed by another foot, a torso shielded by a purple and gold breastplate, two scaly pink arms, and a head partially obscured under an enormous helmet with long black horns.

"My friends," cooed Frieza, his tail thumping heavily onto the ground behind him, "imagine running into you here."

He laughed a high, cold laugh, threw his head back and held his stomach. Vegeta saw Nappa and Raditz exchange puzzled looks out of the corner of his eye and he could hardly blame them. Frieza frequently exhibited irrational behavior.

Vegeta's left eye twitched and he tried to pull himself together. It pained him to admit it, but he could not afford to anger the lizard, even with help. For the several years that he had been in Frieza's service, he had learned it was best to stay quiet unless forced to speak.

"So friends," Frieza said abruptly, folding his arms against his chest, "as you know, I don't usually make house calls. However, I've decided that it couldn't hurt to review your work every once in a while. Isn't that right, Vegeta?"

"Yes, master Frieza."

"Zarbon sends his apologies that he is not able to join us today. He has other matters to attend to."

Vegeta gritted his teeth. Frieza was trying to make him jealous by implying that his stupid henchmen Zarbon was capable of being on his own. He steadied his breathing; he had to set an example for his subjects.

"Before I begin," the lizard said, looking Vegeta directly in the eyes. "I'd like to know what it is that you're foolishly trying to hide from me."

_How had he known_?

Vegeta's heart began to beat furiously in his chest. He had no choice but to lie.

"Excuse me?"

Frieza took several steps toward Vegeta, narrowed his eyes and a beam of red light tore through Vegeta's chest plate, ripping it in half. The telescope, which had once appeared so small, seemed to have grown in size; without armor to cover it, the stolen object created a sizeable lump.

"Hey! Who put that there?" shouted Nappa. "Someone's framing him!"

The red light shot at the general and he stumbled backward, falling over. Vegeta clenched his fists, a move that Frieza did not miss.

"Oh! Are you going to _fight_ me?"

The young prince bared his teeth. If only he were stronger! He would overcome Frieza in an instant! He would kill him mercilessly! He would make him pay with his life!

The pink scouter over Frieza's left eye began to frantically beep.

"An increase in power level does you no good. Now behave!"

It an instant Vegeta was dealt a blow to the face. He felt the bones in his nose shatter. He faltered, blood spraying his hands and boots. Another blow to his stomach made him double over in pain and drop to his knees, gasping for air.

The pain was so intense that it took everything Vegeta had to keep his lunch from coming up. If only he had his sight! It was too hard to see past the blob of swollen flesh that used to be a perfectly straight nose. When Frieza's clawed feet appeared on the ground next to his face, Vegeta could only see a blur.

"There, there my little Vegeta," Frieza said, kneeling. "I suspect you'll be a little more obedient in the future."

Vegeta felt his chin being lifted by a sharp object and realized that it was his master's fingernail. He met Frieza's magenta eyes with his bloody, indignant ones.

"Vegeta."

Frieza's voice was soft, filled with some sort of emotion that Vegeta did not recognize. Did Frieza, after the humiliation he had just put the prince through, dare mock him too? Well if he was going to die, then he would fight doing it!

Vegeta lunged for Frieza, his hands wrapping around his throat.

It had surprised him! His attack was working! Wait… something was wrong… Frieza was transforming into the legendary Super Saiyan! What else could explain his sudden change in eye color? There, look! Frieza was growing paler by the moment, his dark red lips turning pink. He began to sprout strings of blue-green hair and long dark eyelashes.

Nappa and Raditz weren't there anymore. Planet Netto's temperature increased as it became shrouded in darkness. Vegeta noticed his knees were no longer in wet, bloody grass, but in fuzzy blankets and crisp white sheets.

It was her.

Instantly he released his grasp, terror overtaking his heart. He refused to breathe. He refused to understand what he had done.

One look at the woman made it very clear that this action could never be undone, that she would never forget what had happened. She flung herself away from him.

Vegeta shouted something at her but he was not aware of it; he was only aware of how she looked at him, trembled at the sight of him.

He had always known it, though he'd hoped she never would.

He was a monster.

* * *

A tall glass of chocolate milk sat mostly untouched on the crowded wooden end table. In a tiny bed next to it, a black haired boy of eleven lay with his eyes wide open, unable to sleep.

"Now Gohan," said his mother with an index finger pointed at him, "That milk should put you right out. The next time I come in this room, you had better be asleep!"

"Yes ma'am," he replied obediently. "Thank-you."

Chi-Chi stared at him for a moment and the youngster could tell his quick answer had worried her. He sat up in bed and grabbed the cup in his hands. He downed it in two large gulps.

"Be careful!" she exclaimed, and frowned. "Is everything alright, sweetheart? You don't seem like yourself tonight."

Before he could respond his mother had already jumped to conclusions. She rushed to his bedside and knelt on the floor, her face inches from her own.

"Are you sick? Tired? It's all that training isn't it? You've been working too hard!"

Chi-Chi leapt to her feet and took Gohan with her, his upper body mushed against her neck and chest.

"I'm going to have a talk with your father about this!"

She let go of him and looked upward toward the ceiling, thinking. Gohan knew that if his mother had that talk with his dad, there'd be no chance for him to fight against the Androids at all! Suddenly he felt like he could go to sleep! Maybe he'd have pleasant dreams and sleep in and maybe he could read a book or watch TV at Bulma's.

He sighed. "Mom, I'm okay. I promise."

It seemed to work. Chi-Chi still looked anxious, but she also looked defeated. She kissed the top of his forehead.

"Goodnight. I'm just down the hall if you need me."

Gohan plastered a fake smile on his face until she had left the room and closed the door behind her. Then he turned off the lights and lay in the darkness, surrounded by plastic glow in the dark stars and planets. His eyes drifted toward the poster of a bright red racecar near the door. His grandpa, the Ox King, had gotten that for him a long time ago. He sure missed his grandpa.

When was that milk gonna kick in anyway? He was nowhere near tired and he had so many scary thoughts in his head, he wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep again. If his mom ever found out what he sometimes thought about, she'd make sure he never fought the Androids.

Maybe he should tell her.

The digital clock on the end table flashed a few numbers before Gohan began to feel sleepy. He yawned, but when his eyes began to close, he forced them to remain open. He was still sitting up in bed when he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Gohan rapidly hid under the covers, pretending to be asleep. Mothers were so overprotective!

His bedroom door creaked open and the boy let out a few deep breaths and a snore for good measure. That always fooled her.

"Son? What are you doing under there?"

Gohan scrambled out of the blankets. It wasn't his mother at all. It was Goku, and he was looking pretty beat up. Even though his mom was pretty strict about Gohan's bedtime, she didn't seem to care what time his dad came in at all.

His dad gave a furtive glance behind him and shut the door. He joined Gohan on the bed.

"Still awake, kiddo?"

Gohan nodded. "I can't sleep," he admitted.

Goku nodded, looking thoughtful. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Gohan replied quietly. He felt himself heading into a dark place that he did not wish to visit with his dad in the room. He tried to think of something happy, but it was hard.

His dad settled into a pillow and looked up at Gohan who was watching him with interest.

"Want to hear a story? Might help you get to sleep!"

Sleep was the last thing Gohan wanted, but he couldn't tell his dad that. He nodded and got underneath the covers.

"Well, when I was about your age," his dad started, staring ahead into darkness, "I was no fighter at all. I had the strength of course, just not very much discipline. This is back when I had just met Bulma," he added, "so you can imagine the sort of trouble we were always in."

Gohan nodded. He knew that already.

"I started training under Master Roshi and I was amazed at how much stronger I was becoming. So when I heard there was a martial arts tournament, I couldn't wait to enter! I thought it'd be pretty hard though, considering how many fighters were gonna be there."

His dad grinned, shaking his head.

"Man! I underestimated myself big time! I was amazed at how much stronger I had become in less than a year! I made it all the way to the final round without any problems! And then I met _Jackie Chung_."

It was hard to see because of the lack of light, but Gohan was pretty sure his dad's expression matched his excited tone of voice. If there was one thing that excited his father, it was fighting.

"So you came in first, huh?" inquired Gohan.

"Actually he kicked my butt!"

Well that was new. Usually Goku told animated tales of triumph and victory. Gohan hadn't even known that his dad had lost at anything before. It made him even more nervous about fighting the Androids in the next few months.

"It ended up being Master Roshi in the end, can you believe it?"

Gohan couldn't believe it, but he didn't answer. He could only think about the fact that his father, the strongest man in the world, had been defeated by a disgusting old man.

Perhaps understanding the silence, Goku turned on his side and gave his son a reassuring smile.

"Look kiddo, I know how you feel. I was terrified of entering the tournament, and after I lost I was sure Master Roshi wouldn't want to train me anymore. But I learned an important lesson instead. It doesn't matter how much stronger someone is than you, it doesn't hurt to try your hardest."

Gohan shook his head. "If they beat you, it does hurt. It hurts a lot."

He was enfolded in a one armed hug.

"I've been watching you train son, and you might not know it, but you're ready to fight. I know you are."

Gohan didn't bother to argue. He just sighed.

"Come on kiddo," he dad said softly, "I know it's scary. We don't know how strong the Androids are… we don't even know what they look like. The only thing I know is that we're going to win. We're good people. We care about people. We're becoming stronger every day."

He paused.

"You're so much stronger than I ever hoped to be at your age, Gohan," said his dad, giving him a squeeze. "You're an amazing fighter, you know. I'm really proud of you."

A large weight had been lifted from Gohan's small shoulders. He felt like he might be able to sleep tonight. Besides, his dad never lied to him and pushed him really hard. If his father told him he was strong, Gohan believed him.

"Do you… do you think I could fight one of them?"

His dad laughed. "Kiddo, I think you could be fight both of them. And if you keep training as hard as you do, you should be able to do it with a blindfold!"

Gohan smiled.

"Which reminds me," said his dad, sitting up and sniffing his underarm. "Your mom thinks it'd be a good idea for you to relax for a few days. So for the rest of the week how about you take it easy? One of the most important things a Saiyan can do is rest, okay?"

"Right."

His dad ruffled his hair and rolled out of the bed. He wrinkled his nose.

"Man I STINK. I need a bath before your mom kicks me out of the house again!"

As his dad walked toward the door, Gohan realized he had one more question that needed to be answered so that he could close his eyes in peace.

"Why do you think we can beat the Androids, dad? We don't know anything about them." Gohan bit his lip. "Why are you so sure we'll win?"

His dad hesitated before answering.

"… Because we always do. That's why."

* * *

Bulma was sitting in Vegeta's unmade bed with a bright pink journal in her hands. She barely looked up when the door opened and the prince strolled in, tracking grass and mud on the carpet.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked gruffly, taking off his shirt and flinging it onto a pillow next to her.

"Making a list of baby names that I like," she answered absently, scribbling 'Tomago' before she could forget it. "Got any to add?"

"Yes," he answered, "Vegeta."

Bulma looked up at him, prepared to tell him exactly what she thought of that, but she was stopped short by his appearance.

Vegeta stood shirtless in torn blue sweatpants and black tennis shoes covered in dirt. He was cut and bruised in so many places that she could hardly recognize him. A third of his hair was singed and blood covered the right side of his face, neck and chest. Yet he stood with his arms crossed in the middle of his room as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

"What-the-_fuck_-happened?"

Vegeta didn't blink an eyelash at her. "It doesn't concern you, earthling. Now hand me that cloth behind your head."

Bulma turned around, found the towel he was referring to and threw it at him a little harder than she normally would have.

"I suppose it wouldn't do me any good to ask why you're acting so weird. And yeah, why your room looks like I've been living in it instead of you."

Vegeta's eyes travelled the span of the room and he made no comment. It was feasible that he didn't quite understand the mess either; he was usually obsessively neat. Right now empty water bottles, dirty dishes, and smelly clothes littered the floor. The closet door was wide open and only two blue uniforms were on a hanger. Everything else had been stuffed into a clothes hamper or thrown about the room.

A small mess Bulma could relate to. At that very moment her own bed was unmade and several pairs of shoes were scattered around in places she hadn't bothered to check.

"Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Leave me alone," he replied and he stripped off the rest of his clothes until he stood stark naked in front of her. He must've noticed her staring because he pulled the towel around his waist with a frown on his face.

"Nice haircut loser," Bulma said in frustration, getting back to her journal. She didn't want to be unkind to Vegeta, but he was asking for it. Besides, she could blame it on her hormones if she felt like it.

When Vegeta left a minute later, Bulma put down her book and pen and stared after him. She was no idiot. Things between them had been different ever since he had hurt her and even though she had forgiven him and several days had passed, the young woman could tell that the incident was still fresh in the Saiyan's mind.

It should have been gratifying to see that Vegeta had changed enough that he felt guilty for causing her physical harm, but it wasn't. Where they had once spent nights in his bed holding each other as they fell asleep, they now slept apart. Hell, they even ate their meals apart. At such a significant period in her life, Bulma wanted him to be around. Was it too much to ask?

Something was scratching at her ankle, and Bulma reached down and pulled a half-eaten bag of potato chips from the folds of the blankets.

Alright, enough was enough.

She lifted herself out of bed and left her journal behind. She didn't care if Vegeta blasted her into oblivion for interrupting him while he was in the bathroom; it was time for them to have a talk.

* * *

A freezing cold shower did the trick. In an instant Vegeta forgot about his pounding headache and frazzled nerves. He still couldn't believe he hadn't been able to avoid that blast. Blood and dirt mingled with water and turned the tiled shower floor a dusty sienna. Yes, he could forget about his pain too.

If only his hair would grow back, Vegeta could forget the entire episode. How he had been training in 500 times Earth's gravity and how he had unleashed a series of energy beams that ricocheted around the room at dangerously high speeds. He might be able to forget how he had seen a distorted image of Frieza from the corner of his eye and how he had been instantly sidetracked. His own blasts had collided into his body, turning the GR into his own personal inferno.

He had been seeing Frieza in his dreams for weeks now. He had no idea why.

"Alright, Vegeta! I've had it!"

Damn it! He had not only been distracted from his senses once more, but he had forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Now the woman was standing inside, her silhouette upon the shower curtain.

"We're going to talk whether you like it or not, so move over!"

With that she yanked back the plastic drapes and hopped inside, naked. In an instant she was screaming so loud that Vegeta thought it entirely possible that he was bleeding from the ears.

"COLD! IT'S SO COLD! MAKE IT STOP! AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Moved by her shrieks, Vegeta reached over her clawing, shivering body and as quickly as he could, turned the knob to the right. Hot water poured over them both until Bulma's cries had turned to whimpers.

"I can't breathe," she said as her entire body convulsed in shivers, "I c-can't breathe!"

It had been awhile since Vegeta had gotten a chance to see Bulma naked and he immediately responded.

_Blast you, Vegeta! There's no time for that!_

Bulma had finally stopped making noise, and now she stared below his waist, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

"Stop staring at me, woman!" Vegeta ordered, turning his back on her and looking over his broad shoulders. "Get out!"

She snapped her eyes upward and blinked a few times. "Yeah. Well… oh, yeah. I came in here to talk to you. Uh, it was important too. What was it again?"

Vegeta was growing impatient. He turned back to her and crossed his arms, waiting for her to remember. In the meantime, she was giving him a wonderful view of herself. He could even see the tiny mound rising from her stomach that indicated her second trimester had arrived.

"Oh," Bulma said with a wave of her hand, spraying water across his face, "we need to talk about why you're avoiding me."

He arched an eyebrow but chose not to respond.

"I know you're upset about what happened the other night," she continued, looking downward, "but honestly, it's not a big deal."

Vegeta curled his upper lip at the woman's statement. Had she really come to bother him so that she could put his soul at ease?

"And here I thought you were the only earthling capable of complex reasoning," he stated coldly.

She reached down and cut the water off so that the two of them were standing, stark-naked, in the steamy bathroom air.

"Listen to me," she said, "I'm not your enemy. I never have been."

Vegeta pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out, flaring his ki and drying off instantly. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked over to the sink, trying but failing to ignore the woman's incessant chatter.

"I'm here because I want to help. Do you think that you're the first Saiyan that's almost put me out? Huh?" she was behind him in a towel, and she grabbed at his arm. "Hey! Do you hear me? My best friend is Goku, do you understand?"

Vegeta grabbed a toothbrush and shoved it into his mouth. "Are you threatening me now?"

"I'm not threatening you, asshole! I just meant that Goku's nearly killed me way more times than you can imagine and guess what? WE'RE STILL BEST FRIENDS!"

Vegeta glared at Bulma in the mirror, staring darkly into her bright blue eyes. "Have you always been this brainless? Or have I not been paying attention?" He turned back to brushing his teeth. "I hope stupidity isn't genetic."

He seemed to have struck a nerve.

"You're insane, you know that!" cried Bulma, moving from behind him to stand beside him at the marble counter. She chucked a full tube of toothpaste at him and he caught it centimeters from his face. "And you can't brush your teeth without toothpaste!"

It would be logical to assume she was acting out because of her pregnancy, but he knew better.

"I don't care about what happened? Don't you get it! I know that it was an accident so stop beating yourself up over it! I'm perfectly fine! The baby is fine! We're all fine! You're the only one walking around here like someone died! Stop being a jerk!"

A jerk? The concept was not foreign to Vegeta by any means, but he could not help feeling offended. He had nearly killed the woman and his own child. To assuage his own guilt he had been avoiding her yes, but his absence had brought her no harm. Besides, he was struggling with demons so dark that she would hate him if she ever discovered them.

Catching her breath, the woman wiped pieces of teal hair from her forehead. She shook her head.

"Can we just be normal again?" she asked in a pleading sort of voice. "Pretty please?"

Had this woman any idea what he had been through? What did normal _mean_ to her? If anything were true, it was that he had been as un-_normal_ as a Saiyan could be. The fact that she and her dim-witted friends still inhaled and exhaled were signs of that.

"You know nothing about me, woman."

There, he had gotten as close to the truth with her as he desired. He tossed his toothbrush on the counter and walked out of the bathroom, the door sliding shut behind him.

* * *

She was freezing and had no desire to leave the warmth of the bathroom, but she had to fix whatever was wrong with Vegeta. She always had to say she had done her best. Of course, with Vegeta that always proved extra difficult.

_You can do it girl, _she thought as she marched down the hall toward Vegeta's bedroom.

The door was locked of course.

"I'll scream until your ears blee-" Bulma began to shout but it was unnecessary. The door was flung open in front of her. "Thank you."

She stepped inside the dark room and closed the door behind her. Vegeta stood off to the side as he dressed; there was an unfamiliar look on his face that worried Bulma.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she stated quietly. "But it's not fair to block me out, Vegeta."

The prince pulled a t-shirt over his head and grunted. "What are you babbling about, woman?"

Bulma wandered over to the bed and took a wary seat on a giant white pillow. Her hair was still wet and she used Vegeta's old towel to wrap around her head.

"You've been acting different lately," she said matter-of-factly.

He didn't answer as he rummaged through his closet.

"You're hardly speaking to me," Bulma told him, wishing he'd at least look at her, "and I don't know what it is that I've done, Vegeta. I know I've been really on you lately to help me out with this whole baby thing but…"

Sharp onyx eyes turned on her suddenly. "Spit it out already!"

"It's been hard on me too! I-I'm getting fat!" she cried and she sat up from the bed and yanked down her towel. "I've gained twelve pounds! I popped a button on my jeans this morning and I cried for two whole hours! My breasts are heavier than bricks, my back feels like it's been kicked in by a Saiyan and your behavior is stressing me out!"

Something flickered behind his eyes and Bulma felt her heart tighten. Something serious was going on here and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Vegeta?"

He had finished dressing and he stood still, listening.

"Is it because you hate Earth? Do you wish you were back home?"

That was it wasn't it? The prince had finally turned to look her in the eye so it must have been close.

"I have no home," he answered curtly.

That stung a little, but Bulma let it go. She couldn't imagine having to be away from all of her friends and family. Sure, Capsule Corp felt wonderfully cozy and homey, but it couldn't feel like that to Vegeta. She wondered if he felt like an intruder.

"It must be hard for you," she said quietly, replacing the towel around her. "You're so far away from all the people you know."

He grunted.

"I don't care about that," Vegeta stated plainly, picking up his discarded clothing in his arms.

"You don't ever think about your friends?"

He gave a short laugh. "What friends?"

Bulma stood up and followed him to a tiny white hamper in the corner of the room, blocking him into the wall.

"I'm your friend, Vegeta," she said softly.

Vegeta pushed her aside, arms empty of clothes.

"Don't pity me, woman."

"Oh come on, Vegeta… you've had a tough life. It's okay to talk about it."

"There's not a single thing about my life that your tiny brain would comprehend," he snapped, falling onto the bed facedown and lying still.

Bulma joined him, sitting on the edge and pressed a hand on his back. "Try me… Tell me about Vegetasai some more."

He blinked a few times before focusing on her.

"It was hot."

Was he really going to make this that difficult for her? She glared at him and he got the message.

"Planet Vegeta lay within a binary star system. Nearly every Saiyan lived in the desert; some managed in caves but that did little in terms of cooling oneself off. Thus, it was hot."

Bulma lay down next to him, taking care to lay on her side. She was looking directly at Vegeta's dark, handsome face, twisted in what appeared to be desolation and depression. His eyes stared at her, but she couldn't tell what he was seeing.

"You didn't live in the desert," she said quietly. "You lived in a palace with your father. I remember you saying that when you first got here. You must have lived in the city, huh? Away from all the others."

He scowled. "I'll have you know that I lived at the _heart_ of Planet Vegeta, amongst thousands of Saiyan warriors and the like. Hundreds lived within the same walls as I and were well-connected with their families on the outside. It was not like Earth, where humans see other humans right in front of them and don't say a word."

"Don't give me that _earthlings do this wrong_ business," Bulma said indignantly. "At least we don't ship poor, defenseless _babies_ into _space_!"

"You would if you had the technology," Vegeta rebutted. "Besides that, Saiyans are destined to be warriors. Those third class would eventually grow up and become well-rewarded for their efforts. On this mudball the lower classes have nothing to look forward to except an early demise. One Kakarot should have given them long ago."

"Jeez, Vegeta, keep the sunshine coming."

He rolled his gloomy eyes at her, something Bulma found very endearing. She gently nuzzled her nose with his and he moved back a centimeter.

"What are you doing that for?"

Bulma sighed. "I'm making noses with you, silly."

"Well stop it. I don't like it."

She did it again despite his protests. "Not every act has to be warrior-approved, you know. We can be affectionate sometimes."

Vegeta furrowed his brow but didn't respond, a reply that Bulma was getting used to as the conversation went on.

"You're just not used to it yet," she said with a tiny smile, "but don't worry. You spend enough time around me and you'll have no choice."

"Spare me, woman."

Bulma placed her forehead on his and stared deeply into his eyes. Her left arm moved over his shoulder until her hand found itself in his messy black hair. She kissed him softly on his surprised lips.

"You're just not used to someone caring a lot about you these days," she murmured. "It must've been hard losing your father."

They had talked about King Vegeta before, but not on such a personal level. Bulma could see she had touched a nerve.

"My father cared only for himself," he said with an expression on his face that the young woman could not quite describe. "I was his heir and I never fooled myself that I was anything more."

It was such a sad statement that Bulma was confused at the tone of voice in which it had been delivered. The idea that his father had not cared about him did not appear to bother Vegeta at all. Bulma thought about her own father, so full of energy and warmth and felt sad. Had Vegeta ever known love?

"What about… you never talk about… did you have a mother?"

Vegeta made a face. "What else explains my existence?"

She put a finger over his pouty lips to stop his attitude. "I want to know about her. Was she like your father? What happened to her?"

A silence followed after her words and Bulma was certain that she had reached the end of the questionnaire; she had known she could only get so far with the Saiyan prince. It was no surprise really.

"My mother died when I was a boy," Vegeta said, in that same flat voice.

He looked at Bulma with squinted eyes.

"She was not a warrior."

Bulma wrapped her arm around his waist and snuggled underneath his chin. She had so many more questions to ask, but there had been a change in the atmosphere when she had brought up his mother. Perhaps she should let him alone. She could attack more tomorrow.

Vegeta had already closed his eyes and so Bulma followed suit, stifling a yawn. She pulled the wrinkly blankets over the two of them and lay down, awaiting sleep.

A moment after she had closed her eyes, a strong arm pulled her against a rock hard chest. Two lips pressed firmly on her neck and trailed down her collar bone. In the darkness she could see very little but his shadow. She lay safely in his arms and fell asleep with his lips still caressing her skin.

* * *

Large, shimmery stars distorted the reflections of the young woman and her son in the dark pool of water. A tiny red frog leapt from the warm pond and splashed them both.

The tot watched as his mother laughed, wiping her face clear of water and then doing the same to his.

"Did you see that frog, Vegeta? It was a Red Poppy Frog!"

"Poppy frog," the boy repeated, wrinkling his nose. He didn't like being wet. Even now, as his mother's feet dangled freely in the water, his own were enclosed his shiny white boots, sitting securely underneath his bottom.

The pond in the rear courtyard was her favorite place to sit, especially when there were no clouds and the stars were out. Vegeta liked the stars too and he had taken to following her outside of the palace gates once darkness had fallen because he knew exactly where she was headed. Their ritual had only been going on for a few weeks, but to the child, it felt like he had been doing it his entire life.

"I hear you started your new training program today," said his mother with a smile, drawing a white lily from the water with a graceful hand. "You were the best in the whole class, weren't you?"

Rows of all sorts of smelly flowers like orchids and blue sage lined the pathway to the pond, but his mother always picked lilies. He fell backward into the dark green grass and heaved a great sigh.

"It's dumb. I hate fighting."

His mother lay next to him, her shoulder length black hair spreading out like wings beneath her head. "Yes well… don't let your father hear you say that."

Although he had only been alive for five short years, Vegeta was well-aware of what to not tell his father, the king. There was plenty of stuff he _could_ tell, but it all dealt with boring royal apprenticeships and fighting and a whole lot of other things that Vegeta didn't understand.

"Besides, all Saiyans love to fight," continued his mother. "You'll be no different. You'll see when you're a little older."

Vegeta sat up, curious. "You're a Saiyan and _you_ don't like to fight."

She laughed. "I've always marveled at your intuitiveness. No, I do not like battle. I think that it's barbaric and cruel, but I am in the minority, Vegeta. As I always will be."

He didn't know what his mother was talking about, but he guessed it didn't matter. His father liked his mother well enough and she never so much as raised her voice. If he grew up and didn't want to fight, his father would understand.

A warm breeze blew Vegeta's hair back and he yawned, feeling drowsy. The battles he had taken part in with the other children had worn him out. Plus, they were much older than him and he felt like a show-off for being stronger than all of them. Of course, King Vegeta had been very happy to hear about his progress and Vegeta was too afraid to ask his father to stop the program.

"Are you ready to go inside already?" asked his mother. "Come, I'll take you to bed."

She lifted Vegeta into her arms and he rested his head on her shoulder. He yawned again.

"Training tomorrow will be much better," she said to him as she stood up and began walking through the grass and to the pathway. "Just wait! You'll be even stronger than your father one day!"

"I'm hungry," Vegeta mumbled, drifting in and out of sleep. "Can we please stop by the kitchens?"

He did not hear her reply, only felt her clutch him more tightly in her arms. He immediately lifted his head and turned to see what was wrong with his mother, who had stopped walking.

"Can I help you?" she asked, sounding stern. "There are no visitors permitted in the gardens at this time."

A high-pitched voice came from the darkness. It was like no voice Vegeta had ever heard and so he assumed the owner must be foreign.

"I've only come to observe the premises," said the speaker from the darkness. "I need to look over a few things before I redecorate."

"Show yourself properly," the queen asserted, stepping backward and refusing to release her squirming son. "What business have you on Vegeta?"

From the shadows the speaker slowly revealed himself. The queen gave a gasp of revulsion and instantly turned her head.

"What are you?"

Her question was never answered. The purple reptilian struck her so quickly she had no time to defend herself. She fell and Vegeta rolled out of her arms.

"Run!" she shouted at him, shoving him with a free arm. "Run as fast as you can, Vegeta!"

But he could not move. There was something wrong with this picture. His mother, lying on the ground, bleeding… a monster with horns attacking her! Why was this so familiar to him?

"Mama!" shouted Vegeta, leaping in front of a large fist and taking the brunt of it. He connected hard with the rocks below. His right eye immediately swelled shut.

"Vegeta! Ugh!"

His mother had gotten to her feet, was fighting. Even from his position on the ground Vegeta could tell that battling the monster was no use. He was stronger than both of them together… he could tell. If only he could save his mother!

"Leave her a-alone!" he exclaimed, struggling to get to his feet and lifting off into the air. He could not fly very well yet but it was no matter.

"Oh, look! The prince himself! Grab him Zarbon!"

A pair of lime green arms caught him mid-flight and crushed him so hard that he could not breathe, let alone scream out. In front of him, Zarbon's leader had beaten his mother so that her once striking face was unrecognizable. Vegeta fought in his captor's arms as hard as he could but it was no use.

"Take him back to the compound while I finish her," said the abominable creature with a sneer.

"Yes, Lord Frieza."

Zarbon walked in the opposite direction, carrying a bruised and bloodied Vegeta under his arms.

His mother's petrified screams echoed in his ears.

A brilliant flash of green light burned into his eyes.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He realized with sudden clarity that he had awakened to a blinking digital clock.

_It was just a dream_, he thought to himself, forcing air into his lungs. Sweat glistened over his half-naked body. His stomach moved up and down rapidly and his heart pounded in his ears.

It had all seemed so real! In fact, until Frieza had shown up, every part of his vision had been accurate.

He stared at the ceiling and then looked to his left. The woman was still next to him, snoring loudly and hogging the sheets. It was all he could do not to curl up next to her, like the child he had once been, and scream into the pillows.

There was no denying his destiny. Frieza had not died; he lived in Vegeta's darkest dreams.

She wasn't safe next to him, couldn't she see that?

He could not think with her beside him. He could not do anything as long as she was next to him, providing a temporary escape from his troubles. He was so weak that even his mind had succumbed to his fears.

"Vegeta?" she muttered sleepily, her eyes half-opening as he flipped back the covers and got out of the bed.

The prince stood facing the opposite direction, not wanting to delay his actions any longer.

"Hurry up… bed's cold," the woman slurred, her eyes shutting. "I miss you already."

_Stupid onna_, thought Vegeta, his heart still drumming against his ribcage.

He was going to miss her too.

* * *

It was nearing evening and though the sun was lower in the sky, it was as hot as it had been all afternoon. Bulma relaxed on a wooden step on the back porch, and hugged her knees to her chest. It was so quiet that she could hear the sound of cars speeding through the residential neighborhoods on the next street over.

Her silver watch sparkled in the fading sunlight. It was just before seven now. Bulma glanced at the winding path to her left that led to the empty gravity chamber. At about this time she would be carrying a plate of food up it, a tall glass of ice water and an attitude.

A temperate breeze raised bumps on her bare legs and the grass teetered left and right. A large purple dragonfly hovered beside her ear and Bulma, terrified of all insects, let it nestle in her hair until it flew off. There were a lot worse things than being a landing zone for bugs.

Any part of her skin not covered by her camisole or shorts began to itch. Bulma vainly scratched at her scalp, her toes, and her throat. It was useless. She gave up and endured the sensation, wondering if she were making it up in her mind. It would not have surprised her; she had been living in a dreamlike state for the past four days.

It was a desperate nagging feeling that engulfed her now. It was unbearable to imagine she might have to go through this alone, that she was both pitied and blamed for what had happened.

Where was he now?

Bulma involuntarily lifted her eyes so that they rested on the high branches of a cedar whose middle had once been dented by her ex-boyfriend's head. How had the giant tree grown so easily in the midst of the countless fragile palms that littered the lawns of Capsule Corporation? Did it bask in the admiration of the weaker saplings budding around it, or was it resentful that it stood in solitude?

_Pull yourself together_, she begged her thoughts.

A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and dropped into her long eyelashes. Bulma absently ran a hand over the nearly nonexistent bulge of her belly. She was going to be the best mother. She was going to be an amazing mother.

He's not coming back.

Bulma thought of her father, his bushy moustache and large spectacles. He had taught her so much; she wouldn't be anything she was now if he had disappeared before her birth. If he had abandoned her mother, she would not have become an engineer, would not be brave or smart, and would not be outspoken or opinionated. She would not have been Bulma!

_He's not your father_.

She was going to teach her son or daughter everything there was to know. They would be adventurous and carefree and strong and happy.

_He didn't even say goodbye_.

It was too much of an understatement to call herself an idiot. She just sat there on the step, squeezing her eyes shut and imagining that she had made all of the right decisions.

That she had stayed with Yamcha.

That she had never fallen for someone who was incapable of loving her back.

That she had focused on her work and career.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed before Bulma opened her eyes again. The sky was black and glittering stars were scattered across the sky. Her body was sore from sitting in one position for too long and it was far too cool for her flimsy outfit.

What did she care?

Suddenly her chest was aching so hard she thought she was having a heart attack. She gripped her knees and struggled to breathe evenly. It was just too hard. Everything was just too hard.

"_No_," Bulma whispered as a familiar burning began behind her eyes.

It had been a long time since she cried and she was in no short supply of tears when she finally did. They racked her body, stole her strength and fed off of her fears. Bulma fell onto the steps, her head and chest pounding with pain and hurt.

How could Vegeta have done this to her? How could he have left after everything that he had promised?

It was too great an effort to stifle the sounds of heartache. Soon, Bulma knew, one of her parents would hear her crying and she would have to explain everything that was wrong with her. She couldn't do it. No one could ever know. She was alone.

Bulma sobbed until her throat was raw and could barely breathe. She took long gasping breaths but it did no good. She was heartbroken, utterly inconsolable. She had loved someone, truly loved them. She was ugly and unwanted. The progress she had believed Vegeta had made was all a façade. She had meant nothing to him.

When Bulma tried to reassure herself that she didn't need Vegeta, she became even more disconsolate. It was the worst feeling she had ever experienced. It was more than rejection, it was dismissal. It didn't matter to the Saiyan prince that she was pregnant and that the baby was his. How could she have been so stupid?

The only thing that had ever mattered to Vegeta was fighting, training. Love for another person wasn't even something he could feign.

The tears would not let up and they mingled with her sweat and snot. She wasn't herself anymore. Vegeta had taken that away from her. Was she still a human?

Was this how Yamcha had felt? She vaguely remembered his scrappy appearance, tangled hair and red eyes. The pain she felt from that memory nearly overshadowed the pain she felt from being deserted. Had she really been such a callous bitch?

Kame she was so sorry. If Yamcha were here now she would beg for his forgiveness, buy him a new house, do anything that he wanted. If he felt a fraction of what she felt now, she was the absolute worst person in the entire world and deserved any horrible fate which befell her.

She cried until she fell asleep and the soft, buttery rays of the morning sun spread across her limp, wilted body.


	23. The Misguided Duckling

**A/N:** This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write so I apologize for the wait. I've just gotten to the point in my college career where stress has begun to manifest itself physically and at this point, I am sure I have lost a few years off of my life. I am going to finish this though. Never fear.

**DISCLAIMER**: I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!

* * *

Groggy with sleep, Bulma pulled herself off of the wood and wiped away drool that had accumulated near her chin. The sun overhead shone so brightly that it hurt her eyes. She stumbled trying to stand, drunk with drowsiness.

It was a little chilly because it was morning, but it promised to be a beautiful day. Bulma could see no trace of the clouds that had littered the sky the previous night and birds had gathered on the branches of nearby trees to sing to their hearts' content. She rubbed her arms to make herself warmer.

"Dear?"

Her mother's voice jolted Bulma out of her reverie. She smiled so big that her teeth showed, but she knew she would crumple onto the ground if she wasn't left alone.

"Dear, did you sleep out here all night?"

Her mother's voice was laced with an unusual mixture of concern and worry. The older woman closed the backdoor behind her and stepped out onto the porch. She grabbed Bulma's cheeks with her manicured fingers. Their blue eyes locked in a stare that Bulma tried hard to break.

"I'm okay mom," the young scientist claimed, stepping backward and raising her arms behind her head as she gave an exaggerated yawn. "I came out here last night to think about some Capsule Corp thing and drifted off."

Bunny seemed convinced and Bulma gave a mental sigh of relief. Her mother got really bored hearing about "business" stuff.

Her mother shrugged and grabbed her hand. "Come on! I'd like to show you the baby's new room!"

"You're finished already?" Bulma asked her, allowing herself to be pulled inside. "You only started a few days ago!"

"Oh, I've done so much! Some very cute workmen have been helping me move things inside," her mother said with a wink, dragging her up a flight of steps, "and they're _very__strong_."

Ignoring her giggling mom, Bulma followed her upstairs and found herself right in front of the nursery she had been kicked out of not so long ago. It was absolutely not the same way she had left it.

All four walls had been painted a stunning shade of blue that darkened towards the back right wall where a jumble of baby furniture had been stashed. A large planet Earth, awash in green and blue, was brilliantly painted near the entrance of the room. A tiny yellow sun bathed the familiar planet in light and lit up white clouds surrounding it.

Perhaps the most stunning painting lay on the opposing wall, where the blue darkened until it turned purple, and tiny white stars popped into view. There, a fiery orange and red planet was in plain sight. It made Bulma's blood run cold.

"Well then! What do you think?"

Bulma wanted to tell her mother that the room was gorgeous and that whoever had created the masterpiece that was now her son's nursery should be commissioned by the Louvre full-time. She wanted to say that while it broke her heart to see Planet Vegeta so vividly painted, it also filled her with some sort of inexplicable emotion.

"Oh, mom!"

She turned and threw her arms around her surprised mother, who welcomed her embrace.

Her silver lining.

* * *

"Come on! You're kidding, right?"

There was a loud 'thump' as a red sneaker hit the wall and bounced off of the floor.

Standing in the middle of his living room, Yamcha looked down at his bare left foot. At least two of his toes had turned a nasty blue. The tiny nails were chipped and blackened. There was no denying it.

"That toe looks awful!" Puar said as she floated down to examine the crippled man's feet. "Wow! That was some accident you had there!"

"Coach says I have to sit out the next game if I can't walk on it at practice tomorrow," Yamcha said in a surly voice, wanting to throw his other shoe off as well. "Doctor gonna say it's broken so what's the point in even trying?"

Puar landed lightly on his shoulder and he walked over to the worn couch and plopped down.

"That was some play though, wasn't it?" she asked, shape-shifting into a large, fuzzy blue baseball. "The Taitans are in the field! Yamcha, the star pitcher takes his place at the mound! He's…"

"-beamed with a baseball and limps off the field," Yamcha groaned, tossing his head backward and nearly knocking it on the wall behind him.

"No one suspects anything do they?"

Yamcha put his injured foot up on the coffee table. It looked awful. "Not yet," he answered. "I've never had to try that hard to get hit with a baseball before. Sheesh."

Everyone who'd been on the field earlier that morning, players and fans alike, believed that Yamcha had broken a couple of toes after getting creamed by the opposing team's pitcher. In actuality, he had been lifting boulders the night before, preparing for the arrival of the Androids. He'd gotten distracted and accidentally dropped it on his foot. He was lucky he only suffered a few broken toes; he'd barely gotten his head out of the way.

"You should visit Korin and see if his harvest is ready!" suggested Puar, changing back into her original form. "We haven't asked for any Senzu beans in so long! He's probably got plenty to spare!"

Yamcha shook his head. "No way Puar," he said. "Those are gonna need to last us when the Androids get here. I don't want anyone blaming me when they run out."

He sighed. The pain was enough that he considered taking a couple aspirin, but he had no desire to leave the comfort of the couch and he was sick of Puar doting over him. She was his best friend, no doubt, but _man_.

"Aren't you tired of hanging around here all day?" he asked her, "I've got some extra cash. Why don't you go shopping or something?"

She looked suspicious of his offer and rightly so, Yamcha guessed. "If you want me to leave you alone to sulk, all you have to do is say so."

Yamcha knew women, no matter the species, did _not_ want him to say so and decided to keep his mouth shut. Besides, Puar was probably right. He felt awful about injuring himself and really just wanted to mope in peace.

"Nah," he said as a way to apologize for his moodiness. "Relax, Puar. I'm gonna make an appointment with the doc to make this look a little more legitimate."

Yamcha had only pressed two numbers on his cell phone when there was a sharp knock at his door. He exchanged a pleading look with Puar to answer it and settled deeper into the sofa. It was already the late afternoon and he was fairly sure that he wouldn't be able to see a physician until the next day at least.

Muffled voices in the hall diverted his attention for a moment. Puar was arguing with a woman who, from her tone of voice, seemed like another loony fan he'd have to kick out.

Limping painfully across the floor, Yamcha made it around the corner and stopped in his tracks. It wasn't a loony fan exactly.

It was Bulma Brief.

"There you are!" she stated, sounding exasperated, her bright blue eyes piercing his. "I saw what happened on TV today! How are you?"

"I told her you need rest," Puar said, sounding apologetic for the interruption, but Yamcha waved it away.

"No problem, come inside," he said to Bulma, happy that he had thought to clean the apartment the other day. She had always complained about his messiness.

Bulma and Puar followed him into the living room and plopped down on the couch, taking seats on either side of him.

"_So_," pressed the woman, "how _are_ you?"

Yamcha drew back his left leg and wiggled his uninjured toes. The others wouldn't budge. "I had a run in with a boulder the other night."

Bulma, who was sitting on his left side, grabbed his foot in her hands and bent down so close that her nose was nearly on his pinky toenail. Yamcha exchanged a puzzled look with Puar, who didn't look too pleased.

"You're going to need to see a doctor," Bulma stated firmly, sitting up and releasing her hold on his foot. "It's pretty bad… doesn't smell that great either."

Ignoring her jab at him, Yamcha shook his head. "No way, B. I don't need a doctor telling me something I already know. Waste of money."

"You need a doctor so that you can get a splint for your toes," she explained, brushing her hair behind her ears. "If you keep walking on them like that then they'll take a lot longer to heal. Don't you want to start training again?"

Before he could answer, Bulma had taken out her cellphone and started dialing. On his right, Puar was glaring.

"I told you to call the doctor a long time ago," she whispered once Bulma had begun speaking to someone on the other end.

"I tried!" he whispered back.

"So why are you acting like you never intended to go?"

"I'm not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

Bulma leaned over and covered her mouthpiece. "Can you guys keep it down for a second? I think I can get an appointment today!"

Yamcha shrugged at Puar, who rolled her eyes and flew out of the room in a huff. He'd have to talk to her about that later. How could she blame him for wanting to spend time with Bulma? The last time he'd spoken to her was two weeks ago, and that had only been a short phone call from her describing her finished nursery.

"Well! Let's get out of here, shall we?" asked Bulma in a cheerful voice as she clicked off her phone. "The doctor can see you right away! Oh, and you're welcome."

* * *

The doctor's office was always the same; it smelled of antibacterial soap and sanitizers. There was a shiny marble countertop which held an obscene amount of printed paper towels and nondescript objects in plastic bags. Colorful posters with children wearing bandages and crutches were stuck on every wall. A wooden wall shelf was filled to the brim with past additions of _Parenting__Magazine_ and _Highlights__for__Kids_.

Bulma sat on the edge of a plush chair with a turquoise cushion, entertaining herself with a story about Goofus and Gallant. As a child the only thing she had ever learned about the two boys was that they had very unfortunate names. She was going to name her baby something far less conspicuous.

The sound of loud, rustling paper interrupted her musing and she turned toward the noise, irritated.

"Come on, Yamcha! Can't you sit still?"

The injured baseball player was lying on the office hospital bed; his sneakers had ripped up most of the bed covering.

"I am!" he countered. "Why in the world would they cover these beds with toilet paper anyway?"

"It's not toilet paper," said Bulma, putting down her magazine so that she could stand near Yamcha's bedside. She lifted both of his feet and straightened out the paper beneath him.

Yamcha sat up, ripping the paper again. "Can we _go_ now? We've been waiting forever and I have to be honest… I'm not a patient person."

Bulma glared at him. "I'm doing you a favor, so shut up. Doctor Cabbat is my mother's favorite doctor. She's been seeing him for the last few years."

"I see why," muttered Yamcha as the door to the tiny room opened up and revealed the doctor in full.

Bulma turned to greet Dr. Cabbat, who smiled and shook her hand enthusiastically. If there was any man on the planet who was Yamcha's complete opposite in terms of looks, it was this guy. He had shiny blue eyes and straw-colored hair. Freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, making him look younger than his thirty-five years. He was pretty good-looking, in Bulma's opinion, but not her type at all.

"Ms. Brief, how are you?" he asked in a sunny voice, pulling out a clipboard from behind his back. "You're back a little early for another appointment aren't you?"

Bulma patted her stomach affectionately and shook her head. "Oh, we're not here for me. We're here for this guy."

She pointed at Yamcha who was giving her an unfriendly stare.

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Cabbat said, walking over to the ex-bandit and giving him a quick once over. "What seems to be the problem?"

While Yamcha described his toe troubles, Bulma wandered around the room, looking at the posters on the wall. The one that caught her eye showed a little boy with dark hair and blue eyes on crutches being escorted by a nurse and a woman with lavender hair.

The child looked a lot like what she thought her unborn son might look like. Bulma felt a familiar pang in her chest and immediately turned away from the picture. She would not cry in front of the doctor and especially not in front of Yamcha.

As Bulma took a place in a chair once more, she hurriedly wiped her wet eyes and stuck a smile on her face. She could have kicked herself for feeling sad again; she had tried so hard to be happy. Was it pointless though? How could she ever feel happiness again?

"…so we'll get x-rays done for you alright? Then we'll get you fitted for…."

The conversation drifted in and out of Bulma's ears. It was hard to focus once she had let her emotions get the better of her. She settled her eyes on the poster once again.

Yes. He definitely had her eyes, and Vegeta's hair.

She sighed. How much longer would her melancholy last? It had been awhile since she had felt so alone and depressed. Hanging out with Goku while he was training simply wasn't an option and frankly, she'd have to stop badgering Yamcha as well. It was really lucky he had gotten hit with a boulder, or she'd feel guilty for monopolizing his time so selfishly.

She wondered what activity they could do next.

There was more rustling of paper and a thud. Bulma turned to see that Yamcha had jumped to the floor on his good foot. He began to follow the doctor out of the room, limping.

"Getting an x-ray done," he explained.

"Shouldn't take too long Ms. Brief, if you'd like to wait here?" asked the doctor, and Bulma waved him on with a smile.

"Sure thing," Bulma answered as the door slammed shut behind the two men.

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

She was going to have to plan more thrilling activities in the future.

* * *

The darkened laboratory was suddenly lit up with color. Neon greens, blues and reds bounded across the room, creating brilliant crisscross patterns. The lime, azure and ruby lines streaked through the air and bounced from one mirrored surface to another, crafting a magnificent light show.

Dr. Brief clapped his gloved hands together, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl. He had been commissioned by the national space center to work with lasers for one of their missions and he had been playing around with them instead, creating dozens of displays.

A loud beep startled the old scientist and he looked toward the tiny intercom embedded in the wall to his left. It was flashing red. He walked toward the laser machine and switched it into the off position and then he pressed the button on the intercom. Bunny had been paging him all afternoon about repainting the employee bathrooms.

"Yes? Can we keep this short, dear? I'm a little busy!"

"Dad? It's me. Can I come down?"

Bulma? Dr. Brief hadn't seen his only daughter in two days and had made the assumption that she was away. She certainly deserved a vacation.

"It's you? Why of course you can come down! Hurry!"

Dr. Brief let go of the intercom button and pressed another, buzzing his daughter down to the lab. Moments later he heard the large silver door to his private lab open up and she appeared at the top of the winding metal stairs.

"What in the world, dad?" she asked. "Why is it so dark?"

"Oh! I forgot!"

Dr. Brief removed his safety glasses and flipped a light switch. Bulma was wearing a pair of sweatpants, tennis shoes, and a sweater so large it hung off her thin shoulders. He raised his bushy white eyebrows.

"You're awfully dressed up."

"Oh, this?" Bulma grabbed her sweater and looked down at it as though she were seeing her outfit for the first time. "I just threw it on while I'm doing laundry. Plus, I'm going to go watch Yamcha train for a little while so I didn't really want to dress up, you know?"

He knew, but he didn't like it. "I thought that Yamcha had a broken foot?"

Bulma walked down the steps and kissed him on the cheek. She began examining herself in a few mirrors.

"He broke a few toes, that's all," she said, making faces at herself. "He still needs to train though. We're heading over to some field later and I told him I'd bring some snacks."

"I see," said Dr. Brief, reaching into his coat pocket and tossing a capsule into the air. It opened up and revealed a pair of black goggles that he immediately handed to Bulma. "Can you spare a few minutes with your old father? I'd love for you to see a laser show!"

She looked confused but she did as she was told, slipping the glasses over her head and securing them to her face.

He turned the lights off again and started up the machine. At once the vibrant colors began to dance around the room. He heard his daughter gasp.

"This is awesome!"

"Isn't it?" he replied. "I'm developing lasers for remote sensing. I'll be meeting with a few officials tomorrow from the West City Aeronautics Center. I thought I'd play around with the machine first and have some fun before they've got me at their whim!"

Bulma patted his shoulder. "You've got your work cut out for you. Those people down at the space center are intense."

"I'm not worried," he said. "I'm a shareholder!"

They watched in silence for another minute, colors flashing before their eyes. When the lights disappeared into the darkness, Dr. Brief was smiling. With Bulma next to him it was starting to feel like old times again.

"You know," he began, reaching over to cut on the room lights once more, "I don't think the Center would mind if you were helping me with the project. The more the merrier!"

His daughter faced him with a crooked smile. "I don't know. I've been really busy lately. Plus tomorrow I'm going to lunch with Yamcha and looking over some plans for a gravity room."

"Why can't he use the one here?" inquired Dr. Brief, raising his thick eyebrows. "It's still in great condition."

"I don't think he should. He nearly killed himself the last time he used it," Bulma answered, her voice taking on a strange tone. "The one I'd make for him would be low key. The gravity would increase much more slowly for one."

Dr. Brief shrugged and placed his glasses on the top of his head. "I have to agree. Are you sure you don't want to go to the meeting with me tomorrow? It's at three."

She shook her head. "Nope. I would if I could though."

There was a pause, and then Dr. Brief decided to say exactly what was on his mind.

"Dear? Aren't you afraid you're spending a bit too much time with that young man?" Before Bulma could reply, he went on. "It's just that your mother and I haven't seen you around lately and whenever you are here, you're with Yamcha. Not that he isn't a fine, young man…"

"Dad."

"I'm just worried that with Vegeta being gone and all, you're feeling vulnerable. I wouldn't want you to be taken advantage of."

"_Dad_."

"Of course I'm not saying that Yamcha's intentions aren't respectable. I happen to like the boy quite a lot to be honest with you and your breakup certainly surprised me and-"

"Dad!"

Dr. Brief stopped speaking and cleared his throat. Bulma's eyes were narrowed, much like her mother's. He prepared himself for the worst.

"Dad," she repeated in an unexpectedly calm voice, "as much as I appreciate your concern, I'm not a little girl anymore. I can make my own decisions."

He sighed. Tell him something new.

"Yamcha's a good guy, okay?" she told him, giving him a smile that always won him over. "Besides, I'm the one who's been initiating everything. I call him twice as much as he calls me. He's been a really good friend."

What more could be said on the subject? Bulma was headstrong and if she wanted to do something he would not be able to talk her out of it; nor did he intend to. Her independence was one of her best attributes. So he did what he had always done.

He let her fall so that she could fly.

* * *

Bulma lazily ran her fingers through the cool pond water, watching silver-blue fish swim beneath the green lilies. The small bushes and trees lining the pond had turned the water green. Dozens of moss covered rocks had been purposefully placed against the edge; they served as resting spots for belching frogs and perches for curious birds. One particularly large rock with a smooth, flat surface was now a pillow for the blue-haired woman lying on top of it.

"You're not paying attention!"

Bulma snapped her head upward and saw Yamcha floating above her, panting and covered in dirt. He was glaring at her.

"I am!" she called out. "The sun was in my eyes!"

He nodded and flew higher, beginning a series of punches and kicks that Bulma could hardly make out. As soon as Yamcha disappeared behind a tree, she turned her sights onto the pond once more.

It was so peaceful here. All she had to do was ignore the sound of Yamcha grunting and exploding things behind her in the background. She had been watching him for at least half an hour now and her ears were ringing. Watching the stagnant pond water took her away from the destruction.

For a moment she thought about the Androids. Having no idea what they looked like or who they were, this was no easy task. Bulma stared intently at a lily pad. Things had been so different.

Sure, the androids were evil creations that needed to be stopped; that cute boy from the future had said as much. The thought of her friends ganging up on them had been thrilling and exciting. Goku was going to wipe them off the face of the planet and Earth would be saved!

Except…

Bulma sat up and looked down. The stakes were higher. She no longer felt an adrenaline rush when she watched one of her friends train. She only thought of her future self in a timeline where all of the people she cared about were dead.

Krillin, Yamcha, sweet Gohan, Goku… and Vegeta too.

Gosh, how had that relationship panned out on _that_ side of time? It had been doomed from the start, hadn't it? What was it like to prepare yourself to have a baby without the threat of the androids looming over you? She and Vegeta must have had no reason to stick together whatsoever. How long had it lasted? A few months of sex and maybe she'd kicked him to the curb.

Of course, once the androids had showed up, it was possible that things had changed.

Bulma knew that in the future, she must have been a lot stronger than she was now. She was still alive there after all. Here she felt like curling into a ball and hiding under blankets, too afraid to face the possibility of her friends' demise.

Her eyes began to burn and she hurriedly brushed them away with the back of her hand. There wouldn't be any of that. There couldn't be.

"Is everything okay?"

Bulma hadn't seen Yamcha descend and so she was startled by the sound of his voice. She quickly put on a smile to reassure him.

"I'm alright. Just a little stomach pain," she lied, hoping he'd drop the subject, which he didn't.

"Is it the baby?" he asked, kneeling in front of her with a worried look on his face. "Should we go to the hospital?"

"I'm fine," Bulma said, pushing him away and standing up. "So, you're done training huh?"

Yamcha stood up. "Yeah, I guess so. I really need a shower." He sniffed his armpits for emphasis and Bulma turned her head in disgust.

"Where're you headed, B?" asked her ex-boyfriend, walking to a paved area where she could unload her car from its tiny capsule.

"Probably home," she answered. "I need a shower too."

He stopped walking and turned toward her. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? I can fly you home myself, you know."

Yamcha reached out his arms as though he were going to pick her up, but Bulma backed away. "I'd rather drive."

He looked taken aback by her sudden gesture and then he frowned. "You didn't seem to have a problem when… never mind."

He started to walk again, a lot faster this time and Bulma could see that his mood had turned sour. "Hey!" she called after him. "Yamcha, wait up!"

"What for?" he responded. "You're driving remember?"

Bulma rolled her eyes and sped up so that she could keep up with his long-legged pace. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings.

"I just don't think I should be hundreds of feet in the air in this condition," she explained.

"You think I'd drop you."

"Well… no," she added quickly, although that was exactly what had crossed her mind. She could tell that Yamcha didn't believe her.

Once they reached the pavement he gave her a thin-lipped smile. "I'll see you later, okay? Drive safe."

She opened her mouth to stop him from leaving in such a bad mood, but she didn't know what to say in her own defense. He shot up into the air and disappeared from sight.

Man, she was really going to have to find some female friends.

* * *

Chi-Chi was in the process of tying her yellow shawl into a knot when she heard the doorbell. She was puzzled; Gohan and Goku were off training at Master Roshi's today, and she hadn't been expecting any visitors.

"Coming!" she shouted from her bedroom, patting her hair. "Be right there!"

She walked quickly from her bedroom and to the front door. She stood on tiptoes and peered out of the peephole. Talk about unexpected visitors.

"Bulma!" she cried as she opened the door and threw her arms around her dear friend. "It's been a long time! What are you doing here?"

Bulma laughed and broke away from her grasp. "Oh, it hasn't been that long has it? A few months."

Chi-Chi grabbed her arm and led Bulma inside her home, shutting the front door and leaning against it. "Don't give me that! Everyone's been so busy! I imagine you've been working in your lab all this time…"

She trailed off once she had given her visitor a closer look. Bulma was dressed like a bum, in baggy sweatpants and a large sweatshirt that must have belonged to a giant.

"It's clear you haven't been shopping," she commented, arching an eyebrow and standing straight. "Although I have to admit, your hair looks fantastic."

Bulma touched her hair and rolled her eyes upward as though she could see her scalp.

"So, what brings you by here to No Man's Land?" Chi-Chi inquired, walking into the kitchen with Bulma at her heels. "Would you like anything to eat? I have blueberry cobbler."

She paused by the refrigerator.

"Can I have some water?" asked Bulma, taking a seat at the table and scooting in close. "And can't a girl come visit her friends every once in a while?"

"Sure they can," Chi-Chi answered, rummaging through a cabinet for a glass, "but not you. Goku's not here and neither is Gohan but I can tell them you came by."

She set the glass on the table and took a seat across from Bulma, who looked guilty. Chi-Chi wondered if she were being a little harsh. After all, the woman lived all the way across town and it wasn't like Chi-Chi had made an effort to visit either.

"I didn't come to see Goku or Gohan," Bulma told her, taking a tiny sip of water. "This is purely girl talk."

Girl talk? Since when was Bulma 'Action-packed' Brief up for girl talk? Their last conversation had been about Gohan's infancy, which had been a nice topic for discussion, but not exactly 'girly'. The two of them had been friends for decades though, so Chi-Chi was willing to listen.

"It's about a guy."

Immediately Chi-Chi's interests were peaked. As far as she knew, Bulma and Yamcha had broken up, but she hadn't seen any other guys around and no one in the press had printed it in a trashy magazine yet.

"Who?" she asked, leaning forward with wide eyes.

Bulma stared into her glass.

"I can't say exactly. I just… I need another woman's opinion."

Chi-Chi gestured for her to continue. Gosh, it had been a long time since she'd gotten any good conversation. Her family and friends had immersed themselves in training which meant that the most gossip she heard nowadays centered around who had come up short in a spar that day. _Boring_!

"I've been seeing this guy recently," Bulma began, and Chi-Chi's expression must have alarmed her because she quickly added, "as friends!"

"Right."

"We've been spending a lot of time together lately, which is nice," she said, "but I'm starting to think that… that he's not looking to just be friends."

Chi-Chi pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "Have you talked to him about it?"

"I can't! To be honest, I thought the two of us were on the same page until he got upset about a comment I made yesterday." Bulma sighed. "It made me realize that I've kind of been leading him on."

"Leading him on how?"

"Going with him to doctor's appointments, having lunch, inviting him over to my place. It's been really innocent. We don't even hold hands."

Chi-Chi was confused. "I don't get it. Why hang out with this guy in the first place if you don't want to have a relationship?"

Bulma put her head in her hands. "I know! I feel so guilty about all of this. I should never have gotten his hopes up again."

After she had said that, her face reddened and Chi-Chi's jaw dropped.

"You're re-dating Yamcha!"

Bulma echoed her bewildered expression. "I am not! We're just friends and he knows that!"

"Then why are you still going out with him, huh?" Chi-Chi asked, feeling smug about figuring out the mystery gentleman. "You and Yamcha are back together!"

"No! That's my point! I don't want to get back together with him! I really don't!"

There was a silence.

"I think I've been leading him on though," Bulma continued, looking at her hands. "The worst part is that I didn't even realize it. I've just really needed company lately."

Chi-Chi blinked.

"Not _that_ kind of company, Chi-Chi," Bulma asserted. "Get your mind out of the gutter why don't you?"

Well, that was hard to do now that she thought about it.

"Honestly Bulma," said Chi-Chi, "it's really not that hard to see what needs to be done. You've got to stop spending so much time with Yamcha. You broke up with him a long time ago. I've got it! Get a new hobby; I've started candle making!"

"I don't think it's that simple. I think he needs me."

Chi-Chi stood up and began pouring herself a much needed glass of water. "The only person who needs someone is you and that's clear as day. Whatever happened to the Bulma Brief I used to know? Shouldn't you be out stealing cars and chasing bad guys?"

Bulma cracked a smile and Chi-Chi sat back down, patting her outstretched arm.

"Yamcha's going to take your absence a lot better than you think. Second time can't be too bad, right?"

Bulma rolled her eyes.

"In the meantime, put on some clothes that fit you and get back to work! I don't want my Goku out there without one of your gadgets protecting him!"

That was the truth. She had seen one of those pairs of special glasses with the colored lenses that read power levels. Goku claimed they had saved his life on more than one occasion so, even though he never used his pair anymore, Chi-Chi kept them safe on the top shelf of their closet just in case.

"I can't seem to focus on work anymore," her friend confessed. "I don't feel like myself."

Chi-Chi took a large gulp of water and stared out of the kitchen window. She had been feeling like that a lot too as of late, and she knew why.

"It's too early to tell, but I think we'll all be okay," she said. "Everyone's been training so hard. I'm one to talk, but I don't think you should worry so much about the future."

Bulma was quiet for a moment. "I keep wondering when they're going to show up, you know? Goku and Piccolo know for sure, but still. The scientist in me understands a little about time travel to ask the most horrible questions. What if our timeline's undergone some immediate, unforeseen change because that boy arrived from the future? You've heard of the butterfly effect."

Chi-Chi certainly had, but she refused to waste her time on hypotheticals. "Look, Bulma. The androids are coming whether we like it or not. We're all doing our best to prepare for that. If anything else comes along that we didn't expect, we'll just have to improvise."

"I hate having to improvise."

"That certainly explains you and Yamcha," Chi-Chi said with a shake of her head. "And to think, I thought you had more sense than that."

Bulma smiled. "Have we met?"

"I'm not sure. The Bulma I know wouldn't be caught dead in those sweatpants."

"Oh, these?" Bulma stuck out a leg and shrugged. "They're not mine. I found them in a hamper."

Chi-Chi wrinkled her nose. "They're probably Vegeta's then. Have you guys been getting along? I've been asking Goku to keep an eye out."

A pause followed her statement and the dark-haired woman gave her friend a quizzical stare.

"Hello? Earth to Bulma?"

"Yeah, they probably are," she answered. "He's the only one who bothers to put anything in a laundry basket."

Chi-Chi hated to ask, but felt it polite since the dreadful man was a member of her best friend's household. "How's Vegeta doing anyway? He hasn't come over to pick a fight with Goku lately."

Bulma began picking at lint on her sweatshirt. "He went off to train somewhere. I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Wonderful! The house must finally be full of peace and quiet!"

More silence.

"Is everything okay?" asked Chi-Chi, not used to a Bulma whose mouth remained sealed, especially not when the conversation involved the egotistical prince. "Was it something I said?"

Bulma looked startled. "No! I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment. You're right. I should get back to work _especially_ now that Vegeta's given me some time."

"You'll want to get a move on with that," Chi-Chi offered, "because as soon as he gets back it'll be a bunch of grunting, yelling and exploding gravity rooms."

"It might be fun to fix one again," Bulma said to her, eyeing her empty glass. "It's been awhile."

"Vegeta behaving himself? Now _that__'__s_ something I haven't heard before."

"Speaking of something you haven't heard… my dad's meeting with the space center today. I think I might take him up on his offer to help with a project."

Chi-Chi nodded enthusiastically. "Now that's the Bulma I know. What's it about?"

"Not sure," answered Bulma, "but it has something to do with lasers. You know what? I should go and see. I don't think the meeting has started yet."

"You should definitely go," Chi-Chi said, standing up and taking her and Bulma's dishes to the sink. "You may want to change your outfit though."

Bulma stood up and looked down at herself once more.

Chi-Chi turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm.

"It's just a friendly suggestion."

And it wasn't the only one she hoped Bulma would take.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks everyone for being so patient with me. You are _extremely_ appreciated!**


	24. Waking Up

**A/N:**I think you'll like this, I do. ;)

**DISCLAIMER:**Really Akira? Really? All those other Dragonball Z fanfics out there with furries and Kame showing Mr. Popo some lovin' and you're gonna… hey! Give it back! GIVE IT BACK TO ME!

* * *

The room was rectangular with no windows and a dirt floor. The walls were ruddy-colored, mostly from the dust and paint. A pile of burlap served as blankets and pillows for the young prince who stood with his back at the door which locked from the outside.

It was his insubordination, they said, that had contributed to this stint in a filthy cell. He had sassed one of Frieza's prestigious soldiers for the last time, they told him. A week ought to do it for the ill-tempered monkey.

_Bah!_ Vegeta was more than glad to spend the rest of his days locked up like an animal in the stupid room. The less he had to see of Frieza and his idiot minions, the better. He could go more than a week eating the slop they served through a slit in the door if it meant he'd be left alone.

A timid knock brought him to attention.

"Pr-prince Vegeta?"

The twelve-year-old was interested. It had been some time since someone had shown him royal treatment.

"What is it?" he asked, turning around. "I'm busy, you know."

The door clicked open and a boy a little older than him stood in in the threshold, holding a bowl of steaming liquid that Vegeta understood to be his lunch.

"Just set it down on the floor."

The boy obliged and then stood crooked, his back bent over. It was awhile before Vegeta caught on that he was being bowed to.

"Your highness, Sir Zarbon requests an audience with you after you have finished eating. He is waiting on the fourth floor."

His imprisonment was being cut short by one of the men he hated the most; it did not escape Vegeta that what might be waiting for him upstairs was far worse than being locked in a dirty room. He gave a curt nod of his head and the servant boy quickly left the room, leaving the door ajar.

It tasted like flavorless hot water, but Vegeta gulped the soup down. The sooner he could get to Zarbon the better. He had learned a long time ago not to keep that moron waiting.

When Vegeta had finally made his way out of his cell and into a cramped elevator, he was a lot more nervous than he had expected to be. Zooming upward, he wondered if he could make a run for it and escape.

"And where would you go, huh?" he asked himself, glaring at the glowing numbered buttons.

Frieza was monitoring Planet Vegetasai with scores of intergalactic soldiers at his disposal. At his age, Vegeta knew he didn't have the strength yet. When he was older though, he was going to start with those stupid soldiers and work his way all the way up to Frieza.

That brought a temporary smile to his face.

"Ah, Vegeta. There you are."

The elevator doors had opened on the top floor, exposing Zarbon's pale blue form in complete Saiyan armor. Of course, his own personal touches had been added; he sported blue leg warmers and a circlet which displayed an amethyst stone. Vegeta thought the green-haired alien wore entirely too much jewelry and makeup. He was really strange.

"I've been waiting ages," said Zarbon, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. "Follow me."

Vegeta's short legs kept up at a decent pace, but he was slowed by his constant need to slow down and survey his surroundings. He had been worked to the bone by an angry Zarbon before; nothing seemed out of place or in need of cleaning.

They appeared in front of a large metal door which opened when Zarbon placed three fingers on a sensor box. The older man stepped aside and let Vegeta go in first. The door banged shut behind them.

It was a large training room; the ceiling was dome shaped and the floor was tiled. The overhead lights were so bright that they were blinding. A row of windows streaming in the afternoon sun did not help any.

"I've been told that you've been training a lot recently," Zarbon said, interrupting his thoughts. He crossed to the middle of the room and folded his arms across his chest. "Is that so?"

The boy nodded.

"Let's begin then, shall we?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Vegeta, alarmed at the unfolding events. His father had warned him long ago to stay far from Frieza's men, especially this green-colored one.

"You really ought to watch who you brag to," Zarbon answered, powering up. "Give me your best shot, kid. I'm not going easy on you."

Vegeta was unprepared for what happened next.

A gold, steel tipped boot slammed itself into the boy's face; his neck snapped and his left cheekbone shattered into pieces. He crashed into the opposing wall, his head banging into the tile. The pain was excruciating.

"Stand up. It's going to get much worse if you don't at least _try_ and defend yourself."

Dizzy from his head trauma and with a strength he did not know he possessed, Vegeta got to his feet, seething with unbridled rage.

He flew at Zarbon, who dodged his attack and countered with a blow to Vegeta's back.

Sprawled on the floor, Vegeta once more stood up, missing what might have been a well-placed kick to his head.

Seconds passed although they seemed like years. He was too weak to fight Zarbon and it pained him to admit that. Vegeta was barely eluding death. Would Zarbon kill the young prince? Certainly Frieza had found Vegeta to be a necessary pawn in his quest for intergalactic control. Would he allow him to die?

_Dammit!_ _I__can__'__t__lose,_ he thought as he found himself the victim of a crushing blow to the back of his head. Blood was pouring from his nose and ears. He was a weakling, a coward to lose so easily! He rolled over and avoided a fist but his recovery was short-lived. In the next moment Zarbon had delivered a stomp to the back of his head. With a sickening crunch, he felt his face crush into the tile. Every bone in his face had to be broken.

"I always thought Saiyans were more resilient," said Zarbon, and by the tone of his voice, Vegeta could tell that he had changed into his ugly, monstrous form.

It was as though Vegeta was moving in slow motion while everything around him persisted at a normal rate. That was the only explanation for why he had failed to land a single punch and why he was lying in the middle of the floor with such horrendous injuries.

Vegeta was dying and he knew it. Blood was everywhere. He could only see red. There was no one to save him. Besides, what did he care anymore? His anger had been replaced by a desire to sleep in the darkness surrounding him.

Zarbon lifted a glowing yellow hand that warmed the boy's cheek and frightened him.

"Goodbye, Vegeta."

It was the last thing he would ever hear again.

"_NOOOOOOOO_!"

His own yell had awakened him. Vegeta sat up from his makeshift bed on a tree branch, sweat dripping down his brow. His heart was trying to escape, knocking into his ribcage so hard that the Saiyan placed a hand over his chest.

He lay back again, staring at the black sky. When were these nightmares going to end?

* * *

It had been a hectic morning filled with meetings and harried phone calls. Sometime during the early afternoon Bulma had finally found a moment to rest, taking a seat in a plush chair in her new ornate office at Capsule Corp headquarters. She rested her head in her arms on her desk, grateful for the time alone.

_Beep_.

"Ms. Brief?" her secretary inquired through her through the intercom. "Your coffee is here."

Bulma lifted her head and pressed a button.

"Send it in."

Her door slid open and a tiny man wearing a smock rushed inside. He placed the steaming coffee cup and a coffee sleeve on her desk and as quickly as he had come he had gone.

"Servants these days," muttered Bulma, picking up the paper cup without bothering to use the protective sleeve. Her hands were freezing. She pressed the intercom button again.

"Turn up the heat!" she barked.

A moment later, the heat clicked on.

The coffee, a decaffeinated hazelnut and vanilla blend, was topped off with a scoop of sweet whipped cream. She hoped that it would put her in a better mood.

For the past week, Bulma had been completely immersed in her work. While the first couple of days had been close to wonderful, the latter half had been exasperating. It had been nice to have a change of pace and to have a project to take her mind off of her current troubles. It was only unfortunate that the cheerfulness had dried up after Wednesday. She felt completely detached from everyone around her. Seeing Capsule Corp employees walking around with happy faces and a skip in their step irritated her and now they knew it.

Bulma stood up from her desk and walked over to the large window to her right. Beyond the enormous Capsule Corp lawn she could see into the heart of the city. The largest skyscrapers disappeared into the clouds while citizens and hover cars crowded the streets below.

_Stupid happy people with their stupid happy lives! You'll be dead in a few months you know!_

It was a thought she hadn't been able to suppress but it didn't surprise her. Bulma had been in a dark place lately. Taking Chi-Chi's well-intentioned advice hadn't helped as much as she had hoped it would. In fact, being around other people seemed to make her attitude worse. She had a feeling she was going to get away with her temper when she finally told everyone that she was pregnant.

_Beep_.

"Ms. Brief? You have a meeting in Conference Room B in ten minutes."

Bulma covered her face with her hand. She had forgotten she was meeting with a few associates that afternoon. Would her day never end? Maybe it was time for her dad to hire someone else on as his Vice President.

She walked outside of her office and into the chaotic hallway.

"Good morning, Ms. Brief!"

"Hi Ms. Vice President!"

"How are you doing, Ms. Brief?"

"Would you like some more coffee, Ms. Brief? Decaf as usual?"

Bulma ignored everyone, walking steadily in her high heels and placing a hand on her protruding belly.

"Kame, keep me sane today," she mumbled.

She reached into her red coat pocket and pulled out her phone. There were no recent notifications, meaning that for the second day in a row, Yamcha had ignored or chosen not to respond to her text message. She could've called, but that was against the rules she and Chi-Chi had gone over.

The idea was to slowly return to an 'I-don't-hate-you-completely' relationship but her ex-boyfriend had pushed any reconciliatory efforts to a standstill with his unexplained absence.

"Looking beautiful as usual, Ms. Brief!"

She didn't even look up. What did she care about her friendship with Yamcha anyway? She was used to being alone and frankly, she enjoyed the quiet time to herself.

Conference Room B loomed into view; it was a tiny room with one long oak table in the middle of the room. A glass door served as the entrance and looking inside, Bulma could see that a few men and women in business suits had already seated themselves around the table.

Meetings, meetings, meetings.

"Here goes," Bulma said softly, plastering a smile on her face and walking toward the room. Welcome to the rest of her life.

* * *

Piccolo was panting as he descended from the sky, turning his head wildly. The kid was faring a lot better than he expected.

He spun around quickly and grabbed Gohan's leg, dangling the preteen boy above his head.

"Not quick enough."

He let go and Gohan flipped right upside up, his face flushed. Piccolo didn't blame him; the two had sparring for a straight three hours. It was a small miracle that his mother hadn't come outside to complain yet. Just the thought of Chi-Chi's silver frying pan waving through the air while her high pitched voice shook birds from trees was enough to make his heart race.

"Want some water Mr. Piccolo?" Gohan asked as the two landed on the ground.

"Sure thing kid," the Nemekian answered, looking around. "As soon as I figure out where we are that is."

Gohan and Piccolo looked around. They stood in a valley in the middle of a mountain fortress. Bright green grass stretched on for miles, broken only by the occasional fresh water lake. It was vaguely familiar to Piccolo who had traversed all of West City at some point.

"I think we ended up in paradise," joked Gohan, but Piccolo had his suspicions.

"Gohan," he said in a stern voice, "I suggest you head home. It's north of here."

His prodigy looked apprehensive. "What's the matter Mr. Piccolo? Is something wrong? Do you want me to go get dad?"

Piccolo shook his head. "Nothing's the matter, Gohan. Go home."

The boy nodded and shot into the air. "If you aren't back soon, I'm gonna come back for you. Alright, Mr. Piccolo?"

What could he do? Piccolo grunted and Gohan took off into the sky. Normally he would appreciate having the kid around, especially when he believed something was off. But he had a pretty good feeling he was going to be able to handle this on his own.

The Namekian turned toward a mountain ledge nearly hidden by overgrown pines and blossoms. With his incredible eyesight he could make out a dozen red birds in their branches and a bright orange kitsune slinking under a drooping bow. With the sun warming his back and the sound of bubbling streams in his ears, Piccolo could not help but agree with Gohan's earlier assessment. This place certainly seemed like paradise.

Yes, a paradise… with the exception of one creature which did not belong.

Stealthily, Piccolo levitated until he had leveled himself with the ledge. Then he crossed his arms against his chest and looked upward into the very tree he had been staring at, a frown on his lips.

"I know that you're up there, Vegeta. It's pointless to hide from me."

There was silence, but Piccolo knew he had been heard. His own unexpected presence in the valley must have surprised Vegeta, who had forgotten for a brief moment to hide his power level. The inexperienced son of Goku may not have felt it, but Piccolo certainly had.

"Give it up. I can and _will_ stand here all day."

There was a rustle and then Vegeta had leapt from his hiding spot, his boots denting the brown dirt around the tree trunk. He stood quickly with narrowed eyes and a sneer so wide, Piccolo had no doubt that he was an unwelcome guest.

"Say what you need to say Namek," spat the Saiyan prince, balling his hands into fists and putting them at his hips. "I haven't got the time."

Well, what did he want to say to Vegeta exactly? Piccolo's brain fumbled for some sort of explanation, but the truth was simply that he had regrettably overheard a recent conversation with Chi-Chi and Bulma, who was under the impression that Vegeta had left her estate for good. Chi-Chi had been so ecstatic that she hadn't bothered to tell Goku. In Piccolo's opinion, it was the wisest decision she had ever made. After all, he and Goku knew about Bulma and Vegeta.

"You know what I'm going to ask you," Piccolo said, furrowing his brow, "so don't play stupid with me."

The prince stared at him evenly, his expression unchanging. Piccolo stared at him. Dressed in all black with cold eyes, it was easy to see how the man had terrified the entire earth all those days ago. It had been the Namekian's opinion however that Vegeta had changed somewhat for the better, though he had taken care to remain a haughty bastard. If there was anything now that caused Piccolo unease, it was how dirty the Saiyan's clothes were, and how tired he appeared to be. Dark bags hung under his eyes and even now his irises were pink.

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" he asked.

Vegeta leaned against the trunk of the tree, crossing his legs out in front of him. He was very much the picture of the arrogant young man Piccolo had met on his home planet several years ago.

"I don't think that's any of your concern, Namek."

Piccolo bit his tongue. He was more mature than the petty insult he wanted to spew. "Have you been training here all this time?"

His phrasing had worked; Vegeta seemed interested by his choice of words.

"Who have you been talking to?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern, Saiyan," Piccolo replied evenly. "Suffice it to say that your absence hasn't gone unnoticed."

Vegeta made an angry noise in his throat but didn't respond.

"You can't run from the androids, Vegeta," said Piccolo, knowing very well that the Saiyan's choice of residence had nothing to do with the robots. "They'll have no trouble finding you here. Perhaps you should find a new hiding place."

Vegeta's power level instantly spiked. "I'm not hiding you idiot! I'll face those stupid machines when they come and then I'll destroy all of you in no particular order!" He curled his lip. "And if you keep up with the questioning I'll see to it that you're second… right after Kakarot."

"I'm not afraid of you, Vegeta," Piccolo said, and it was true enough. Though he was decidedly anti-social, he had chosen his team long ago and he trusted his own strength. "Besides, I didn't come here to argue."

"Well spit it out then!" snarled the prince, standing straight up and folding his arms like Piccolo's.

There were probably a hundred or so different ways to say what it was that Piccolo wanted to say and all of them were far more tactful than the way that he said it.

"You've abandoned Bulma and your son like a coward."

Any color that had been in Vegeta's face vanished. All that remained was an incredulous, indignant look that stiffened Piccolo's resolve.

"And just how do you know that?" asked Vegeta with his teeth and fists clenched. "What has that blasted woman told you?"

"She hasn't told me anything," Piccolo said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "and she doesn't need to. It's obvious what you've done to her. Not that I believed you to be a saint, but even I'll admit that I'm surprised by what you've done, Vegeta."

"I don't care what you or anyone else thinks," the latter stated, turning his head and walking toward the ledge. "Now go away and leave me alone."

"You're so ashamed by what you've done that you'd rather live amongst the animals than go back to her."

Not for the first time that day did Vegeta's fists clench.

"_Ashamed_?" he exclaimed. "You think that I'm _ashamed!_ Hah!"

"Then why did you run?" Piccolo asked in a deep voice, not believing Vegeta's outburst.

Vegeta did not answer.

"She's carrying your child, whether you like it or not." Piccolo levitated several inches off the ground. He had spent more than enough time with the Saiyan. "I suggest that you get used to the idea."

More silence. Piccolo powered up, ready to take off. Suddenly, Vegeta spun around.

"Wait."

The Namekian raised an eyebrow.

"How is she? How's the woman?"

He wasn't sure how he should respond to such a question; he only knew it had cost Vegeta a great deal of pride to ask it.

Piccolo powered up again.

"Go and see for yourself."

And like Gohan had moments before, he shot off into the sky without another word.

* * *

A glazy fog had settled over the tops of the purple mountain peaks. Above, only a long, single cloud passed through the night sky. Two men stood in tall grass beneath the void.

"No stars tonight."

Vegeta did not move his head but turned his gaze upon his father's form. He did not answer.

"Any time now," the king continued. "We should not have to wait much longer for the reveal."

The old man was full of vague sentences that did not interest the prince and it was no secret that the young man felt that way. He had no desire to spend his time as a philosopher.

A warm breeze blew by, fluttering his father's purple and scarlet cape. The king ran a gloved hand across his black goatee and closed his eyes, sniffing.

"What are you doing?" asked Vegeta, cocking his head to the left. "What is it?"

His father raised a hand and Vegeta fell into silence once more. "Quiet son," said the man. "Can you sense that?"

Vegeta sensed nothing and wasn't going to try. His sense of smell may be keen but it had never detected power levels before.

"There!" his father exclaimed, opening his eyes and pointing at an empty, dark sky. "Our destiny awaits us!"

Vegeta lifted his head toward the sky. He saw nothing and sensed nothing either. His father was a blasted fool and was wasting a significant amount of his time.

"Doubt is written on your face, but the arrival of Lord Frieza should erase that easily enough."

The Saiyan prince folded his arms tightly against his chest. He was tired of hearing about that stupid reptile but said nothing on the matter. In the past when he had been pressed for his opinion on the subject, he had either ignored, or blasted the asker into oblivion. Unfortunately, he could only undertake the first option with his father.

"Look! There it is!"

Vegeta saw nothing. "You're delusional," he muttered under his breath.

What was his father so excited for anyway? Frieza's visits were always peppered with crude threats and arguments in the company of dozens of overgrown henchmen. Why his father bothered to show the idiot respect was beyond Vegeta's comprehension.

"I'm afraid I'm mistaken," said King Vegeta with a wrinkled nose. "What's taking him so long? He's never kept us waiting before."

"Maybe he's not coming."

King Vegeta turned toward his son quickly; his index and thumb were pointing upward as though he were holding a gun. "Your attitude this evening is troubling. It is very obvious that you have no idea of Lord Frieza's great power and his powerful contributions to Vegetasai."

"I know that he's scared everyone around him into blind submission." Vegeta wanted to add that the list of people bowing to the lizard included his father, but out of respect, did not.

"Then I have no doubt that tonight will be good for you," his father said, returning his gaze to the sky above. "Wait until you hear what we have planned for our future."

And at that moment, something very strange happened. His father, standing there in his colorful robes and Saiyan glory, disappeared and reappeared in the same instant. Vegeta blinked his eyes, sure that his mind had mutinied.

An image of a small boy in a blue jumpsuit scrubbing the boots of a green man entered his thoughts. An image of his father followed, clutching that same boy by his shirt with pleading eyes. He saw the boy again, taller this time. His legs were scrunched up against his chest as he huddled near the window of a space pod, zipping through blackness.

What were these things? Who was this boy? Why was he seeing these disturbing pictures?

"Son?"

Vegeta furrowed his brow at the sound of his father's voice.

"Yes, father?"

King Vegeta stroked his moustache. "I must take leave of you for a moment. Stand guard."

He nodded and watched his father walk away into the distance. Almost immediately there was a flash of white light and the man disappeared and reappeared as he had before.

In his mind there was a woman, lying in a bed. Her skin was flushed, her hair stuck to her forehead. A tiny boy sat beside her, intertwining their fingers as he hummed some tune that Vegeta vaguely recognized. The boy had grown significantly. Now he stood with his hand outstretched, the charred remains of a body at his feet. He had grown again and now the young man sat crouched in the dirt, ripping green flesh from a disembodied arm.

Vegeta felt ill. Dizzy from the visions, he looked around wildly. Where was he again? Suddenly he could not remember why he was standing in the grass and watching the night sky.

A sparkling creature with dazzling sapphire hair leapt in front of his eyes. It wore a flowing, yellow gown and he could not help but think that it was gorgeous, whatever it was.

"You're an arrogant jerk!" it shouted, and the voice obviously belonged to a woman. The figure strode away in the opposite direction and Vegeta mindlessly followed, his feet moving without his permission.

"You're actually kind of cute!"

The drastic change in tone stopped Vegeta from moving.

"Who are you?" he called out, wondering if she could even hear him. He was certain the woman was an apparition. She continued floating as though he hadn't spoken. He became agitated. "Don't you _hear_ me? I demand to know who you are!"

"I hear you!" shouted the woman, "but my name is Bulma! And I am not your servant, so say please!"

Her response didn't make sense, but at least Vegeta knew her name. Blast! She phased in and out of sight. She turned to face him, surrounded by a golden aura. A pain in his head forced his eyes closed, and in that moment he was barraged by images.

The blue-haired woman resting by his bedside; the cloth she had been using to administer to him was sitting in a dish. Bulma was sitting next to him on the ground, sprinkling a foreign white substance onto a bowl of spaghetti. In another image she lay naked on a heap of blankets, her long legs bathed in glittering sunlight.

Why did everything seem so familiar to him? Why did he feel compelled to follow the walking woman when he did not even know who she was? Vegeta opened his eyes and in an instant his entire body felt as though it were on fire.

The pain was so intense that he could not speak. Instead he fell to his knees, grasping at strands of grass and pulling up clumps of dirt. He clamped his teeth together so hard that his gums began to bleed.

"AHHH!" he managed to shout, but something heavy had fallen from the sky and onto his back. With a burst of power he managed to stand up from the wreckage around him. His legs were wobbly and bare save for a pair of black shorts. "What's… what's happening to me?"

"How dare you, you dweeb!" screamed the woman. "You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?"

He could barely make out her exclamations and he did not care. He fell over, too weak to remain standing.

"Oh no!" the woman cried, rushing to his side. "You're hurt!"

What was she talking about? Vegeta sat up and looked down at himself. He was in his regular Saiyan gear once more and he was not hurt. His head began to pound from all the confusion.

"What is going on here?" he asked the woman, but it was too late.

She had disappeared.

No! He mustn't lose her! Perhaps she would return on her own, although he suddenly remembered that his father had yet to reappear and he began to feel hopeless. Vegeta tilted his head back and looked into the sky.

"FATHER! FATHER!"

He had abandoned him, hadn't he? Vegeta's anger was mounting but he was not at all surprised. Why?

He saw a boy shoved into a room, throwing his body against the door once it had closed behind him. He saw that same boy bowing to Frieza, his face twisted in a snarl. Another moment passed and Vegeta watched as the boy transformed into a man, lying on the dirt. He was bleeding profusely… he was dying.

And Kakarot stood over him, shouting at him to shut-up, to save his energy.

It all came rushing back.

Vegeta's father, the woman, and Kakarot… this was not real. He was in a dream and those images were not random pictures, they were his memories! They had actually happened!

He had been disposed of by his father like a common louse and forced to serve Frieza, who had sent him straight to Hell. What did he have to lose besides? His mother had died as he lay sleeping beside her, unable to fight even the illness which was taking her life. What did the prince have to live for? He had callously deserted the only tolerable earthling in pursuit of a legend that he was too weak to attain. Worse, his son would eventually learn the truth about his father's past and what would the boy think of him then?

Vegeta was having a panic attack, he was certain of it.

His vision began to go in and out like an old television set with a broken antenna. He began to fear ever so slightly that he may lose his vision. He fell to the ground again, only lifting his eyes when it became evident that he was not alone.

Two pairs of feet, one in white boots and the other in sandals stood in front of his head. He sat up and found himself the subject of Bulma and his father's scrutiny.

The woman knelt in front of him, her blue eyes so lovely and warm that Vegeta almost lost himself in them. She made him feel so uncharacteristically… human.

"I sh-shouldn't have…" he stammered, "I shouldn't have left…"

Bulma pressed a finger on his lips and held his head close to hers. "I'll forgive you."

He felt like an overgrown infant, so unlike himself. When he remembered that King Vegeta also stood over him, he felt embarrassed, but it was just a dream, wasn't it? He could do whatever he wanted in his own damn dreams.

The woman had gone and now it was only Vegeta, his father, and the lonely mountains. They were standing once again, watching the sky.

"Just you wait, my son," his father was saying as he stroked his beard. "What Lord Frieza has concocted in that mind of his is magnificent."

"Don't be an idiot."

His outburst surprised his dream father, who looked at him with wide eyes. "What did you say?"

"Frieza has no plans that concern you, unless you count your untimely demise."

"Need I remind you that I am your father? I will not tolerate being spoken in that way!"

His dream father acted so much like his real father that it was hard to contain asking for forgiveness. Instead Vegeta crossed his arms.

"You'll sell me like a servant to do his bidding. You are no father of mine."

His father's face was a mix of fury and surprise but he said nothing.

_Yes_, thought Vegeta, _this __all __makes __sense __now. __I __should __be __a __lot __younger __but I'__m __in __control __of __my __own __dreams._

He faced the king, keeping his voice steady and emotionless. Dream or no dream, he would not be a coward.

"Now that the cat's out of the bag, why don't you fill me in on the sordid details father? How you conspired with Frieza to have me do his bidding while you flitted around the castle like his little trophy wife?"

"Vegeta," began his father, "you do not understand."

"Bah!" spat Vegeta, turning away and looking into darkness. "I would never give my son away."

"It was to save your life!" the king exclaimed. "It was to save our people!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and his father seized his arm, forcing him around.

"It is because of me that you survived the destruction of our planet and no one else! I admit I made a few mistakes," the older Saiyan conceded, "but you are alive and you will become the legendary Super Saiyan because of me!"

"Fool!" Vegeta cried, jerking away. "You fill my head with nonsense and lies! No matter how hard I try it eludes me! I've spent my entire life training to become something that I am not and will never be!"

"You don't know what you're saying…"

The dream was maddening. It felt as though he were really talking to his father again. It felt as though he were being told something his father wanted him to hear. But King Vegeta was dead. He had been dead for a long time.

"I never wanted to send you away," his father said softly and he covered his face with his hands. "You were my son and I did whatever it was I could to protect you. If it meant decades of servitude, what did it matter? You would be alive.

"Lord Frieza's actions toward the end of our agreement convinced me of his wickedness. It was my plan to lead a rebellion against him before you were given to him." His father looked distressed. "I cannot ask you for much, but I can ask for your forgiveness."

Vegeta pondered his father's words, a great emotional weight on his shoulders.

"I became a monster."

He paused.

"I've killed innocents."

"You cannot help your Saiyan heritage."

Vegeta thought of his mother and her strange kindness that separated her from the other Saiyans. How many others like his mother had ever existed? Even Kakarot had been evil once.

His father's hand rested on his shoulders.

"You may not forgive me my son, but I know that you understand me. It is unwise to let your past control who it is you want to be. You can even become a Super Saiyan."

The King was slowly phasing in and out. This time Vegeta could not stop his vision from leaving him. His heart began to beat faster; he could not let this end!

"Father!" he shouted at the fuzzy figure of King Vegeta. "No!"

"Frieza is dead," his father's distant voice said to him. "He cannot control you anymore."

Vegeta dropped to the ground, his knees too weak to support him. He closed his eyes, begging his mind to remain asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking into bright sunlight.

* * *

Bulma placed her pink journal on the bedside table and turned off her lamp. A quick glance at the digital clock near the lamp told her that it was only ten thirty, but it had been a long day and she was ready to call it a night. Her birthday wasn't too far away. Perhaps she was becoming an old lady.

She stood up and shuffled to her bedroom door and looked out into the hallway. It was dark and empty. Her parents must've gone to bed early as well because the familiar sound of their television was not there to greet her.

Her stomach growled and Bulma rolled her eyes. She was beginning to think that her recent hunger attacks had everything to do with her son, and not her own appetite. She patted her stomach, hidden by a striped pink tank-top that was as fuzzy as her green slippers.

In the kitchen the heiress found herself surrounded by far too many options. Her mother had ordered a ton of groceries earlier that afternoon and now every crevice was stocked with some goody. The pantry was bursting with canned foods and snacks. Likewise the refrigerator had been stocked with so many condiments, vegetables, meats and cheeses that Bulma knew she wanted a sandwich. She didn't have to look far for bread; her mom must've bought out the entire baked goods section at the market.

Slicing into a large loaf of pumpernickel, Bulma shivered. A cool breeze had caused the hair on her arm to stand straight up. She looked to her left and saw that the French doors in her kitchen that led to the patio in the backyard were slightly open.

"Way to go dad," Bulma muttered, her slippers making scraping sounds on the tiled floor. She shut the door and locked it, but not before taking a sniff. There was a faint cigarette smell.

No matter how many times her father tried to quit, he couldn't stop smoking. This wouldn't be the first time he had snuck outside to smoke and forgotten to close the door when he was back inside. Lately though, because Bulma was expecting, he had been smoking less than usual.

She opened the fridge and took out a package of provolone cheese and the mustard and mayonnaise. She grabbed a head of lettuce and baby tomatoes but couldn't grab a jar of pickles because her arms were entirely too full.

Man, she was really eating for two wasn't she?

A thud near her foot made her jump into the air. Dropping everything on the counter, Bulma looked around, her heart beating fast.

"Mrow?"

"Oh, Kame you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Bulma whispered loudly, bending down to scoop the black cat into her arms.

Scratch purred and nuzzled her cheek with her wet nose. Bulma could see now that the pet had leapt from a chair, probably awakened by the sound of her sandwich making.

"Are you hungry Scratch? Hmm? Is that it?"

Bulma placed her gently on the floor and walked back to the counter, picking apart a piece of chicken and tossing it onto the ground. The cat hungrily ate it and then rubbed up against the woman, her tail wrapped around Bulma's leg.

Suddenly, Scratch's tail went straight into the air and arched her back.

"Kitty? What's the matter, girl?" asked Bulma, feeling anxious. Had she seen a mouse?

No, Bulma could tell what was bothering the feline now; she heard a creaking noise coming from her right where the living room was. Scratch ran into the room but Bulma was feeling a lot less brave. She picked up the knife she had been using to slice bread and held it out in front of her.

Why hadn't she thought to put on a light?

Guided by her knowledge of the layout of the house, Bulma avoided a stool, a trashcan and pressed herself against a wall. She looked around the corner and into the living area.

It seemed okay. The door was closed and the windows were shut. There was nothing on the ground that made it seem as though someone had entered the room at all. So where had that noise come from? And why had Scratch run off?

Bulma swallowed and turned the corner. She found herself enveloped in darkness; there was no one to be seen.

"MROW!"

Startled, Bulma whipped around and backed herself into a corner. The cat was in front of her, its eyes glistening green. It was staring past her.

Trembling, Bulma stepped backwards until she had hit something hard. Terrified she spun around and whipped the knife. When she saw what it was she had backed into, the weapon fell from her hand and landed on the floor with a clang.

There, standing with both arms folded against his chest, a smirk on his lips, was Vegeta.

* * *

**A/N**: Yay! I finally finished this chapter and back by popular demand is Prince Vegeta. Also, if anyone is interested in a story for the holidays, I've created a story in the Christmas spirit that I think you'll all enjoy. That story is practically finished except for some minor editing, so the chapters will be up at least a few times a week-look for that really really really soon. Anyway, it'll certainly be complete before December 25th. Thought I'd show my appreciation by giving you guys something else to read while you wait for me to painstakingly finish this one. And yes, there's plenty of B/V.


	25. Losing Power

**A/N**: I guess this really is the story of the 'infamous' three years. That's about how long it's taken me to write this.

**DISCLAIMER**: I claim all of you!

* * *

_Last time on Dragonball Z! …._

_Trembling, Bulma stepped backwards until she had hit something hard. Terrified she spun around and whipped the knife. When she saw what it was she had backed into, the weapon fell from her hand and landed on the floor with a clang._

_There, standing with both arms folded against his chest, a smirk on his lips, was Vegeta._

* * *

For a moment Bulma's lungs ceased to function. Breathing in and out felt as though she were inhaling and exhaling a block of wood. Was the three-dimensional image of the long disappeared Saiyan more than just a hologram? Was he the result of properly positioned light beams or was he warm flesh and blood?

Their eyes were locked and in the man's dark ones, Bulma could see traces of uncertainty. He was probably wondering if he were welcome in her home and maybe he was thinking of a way to explain himself.

With a loud cry, Bulma flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Vegeta!"

Through his light under armor she could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

"What…" he mumbled, his hands twitching by his sides. "What is th-"

But he did not have the time to finish his sentence. In one split second, Bulma had wound back her right arm and slapped Vegeta as hard as she could right across his face.

Her palm burned red and became swollen with blood. Had she believed she could catch Vegeta off-guard once more, perhaps her hand would've fallen off with the force of her next several smacks. They stood facing each other with Bulma breathing heavily through her nose and the prince staring at her with wide eyes.

"That's for making me think that you were dead!"

Bulma was seething with anger, not caring that she was lying through her teeth. She had never believed Vegeta to be dead, although she had wished for it a couple times. There was no harm in making Vegeta feel guilty about his absence, especially since she was pregnant.

Vegeta's smirk had long disappeared. His eyes trailed over her body and landed on her stomach. He blinked.

"So that's it, huh?" she asked him, stepping close enough that she could smell his all too familiar scent. "You leave and come back like nothing's happened. Everything can go back to normal now. Is that what you think will happen?"

His silence was frustrating but even under her rage Bulma could detect that he was struggling with something. In turn she was more frustrated than before. She spun away from him, her hand over her chest.

"You have some nerve," she said evenly. "I-I don't even know what to say to you anymore."

Bulma walked toward the kitchen, determined to act as though Vegeta's return was nothing more than an inconvenience. Nothing was going to be the same between them and it was better he realized that now.

"Where are you going?"

His voice overtook all of her thoughts and she fought as hard as she could to ignore the urge to turn around and go running back to him. She was interested to know just exactly where he had been and what he had been doing, but that was a bad idea. Bulma needed to show Vegeta that he had royally messed up, for herself.

She left him standing by himself like he had done to her all those weeks ago.

* * *

His cheek had not felt any pain, but he had been on Earth long enough to know how much the woman had wanted him to feel pain. Her hand would hurt for days.

Vegeta watched her walk into the kitchen, knowing that he should leave the woman to her own devices for awhile. He had made his appearance, it was time to go.

The trek to his bedroom was a strange one and it seemed as though he should have left the premises rather than take to his soft bed once again.

Vegeta flicked on the light switch to his room and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place or out of the ordinary. He closed the door behind him and crept to his bed. He bent down and sniffed his bedspread.

They had clearly been washed.

He pulled off his shirt and fell into bed; in an instant his entire body relaxed. He was asleep in minutes.

The next morning came uneventfully with the sun spreading over his room like molasses. Vegeta opened an eye disdainfully, eyeing the digital clock on the nightstand. It was far past morning.

He groaned, preparing to get out of bed, but it was so difficult to do. His body was unaccustomed to sleeping on high thread count silk sheets and thick foam mattresses. He was draped now in a velvet comforter from an exotic place he could not pronounce.

Bah, he was no stranger to fine wares; on his home planet he had spent at least part of his childhood resting his head on satin pillowcases. Was he really so suited to the wilderness when he clearly enjoyed the luxuries of Capsule Corporation?

Vegeta sat up, adjusting his eyes to the sunlight. His sensitive nose could smell salted meat frying downstairs. Not nearly as cranky as he had been, Vegeta rose from the bed and got dressed.

A familiar sight greeted him in the kitchen. The inventor's wife was standing in front of the stove, turning bacon as it crackled in its own fat. When she saw him there behind her, she grinned.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" she exclaimed, waving a greasy pair of tongs in the air. "I thought I heard you snoring this morning."

He narrowed his eyes. "I do no such thing."

The older woman smiled and turned back around, tweaking the temperature of the stovetop. She smoothed out her apron with the giant pink bow on the back and gave him her full attention.

"I'm sure I was hearing things," she said.

"I'm hungry," Vegeta answered, cringing when she threw her arms around him.

She didn't move.

"Oh, of course you are!" she said in a high-pitched voice. Pulling away she added, "How many eggs would you like?"

Vegeta eyed the countertop where there lay a variety of mouthwatering foods. He folded his arms across his chest.

"All of them."

Without missing a beat, she clasped her palms together and laughed.

"One eight egg omelet coming right up dear!"

Vegeta took a seat at the island in one of the barstools and watched her get to work on preparing his breakfast. While he observed, he could not help but think.

What would the woman do when she saw him?

What would she scream at him?

What snide remark would he defend himself with? Could he even defend himself at all?

But he did not find out. Bulma never came downstairs.

* * *

Bulma sat on the edge of the desk in her office, glancing at the clock every ten minutes or so. It was five in the morning and she had been unable to sleep so she had decided to head over to the compound and get some work done. Unfortunately, she was far too distracted by recent events to even try.

She stretched out her arm in front of her and looked at her hand; it was still shaking from the shock of seeing Vegeta again.

"I'm a grown woman," she reminded herself, but it was hard to believe that when she was wearing those pink and green pajamas still.

Maybe she'd better get out of there before employees arrived. There was a suit in her tiny closet that she kept for emergencies, but there was no way it would fit over her almost 6-months pregnant stomach. Her belly button poked out a little too. No one she worked with knew that she was pregnant, although she didn't see why she shouldn't tell them. Maybe they'd throw her a party.

She carefully maneuvered off of her desk and grabbed a picture frame displaying digital images of herself in the peak of her childhood. It made her heart ache to think of that young, independent girl without any real attachments.

_If there was any good in any of this_, Bulma thought to herself, _it's you_.

She affectionately touched her belly. Yes, she would never regret the unborn baby she already loved unconditionally. It didn't matter that his father was a selfish bastard, her son was going to be as gentle and wonderful as Gohan.

Her head gave a slight pang and Bulma ran a hand through her hair. She knew she should try and deal with what was actually bothering her, but it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. She seriously could not handle it right then.

Bulma peeked out of her office windows to ensure that no one was around and then quietly opened and closed the door behind her. She crept to an elevator and rode it to the first floor. A light flickered overhead and she froze, but she was still alone.

Several minutes later she had finally reached her bedroom and locked herself inside of it. She was panting from the exertion.

Bulma slipped under her fuzzy pink comforter and groaned into her pillow. If she could only sleep away her problems, everything would be perfectly dandy. Her phone chimed from its place on her nightstand and she grabbed it grumpily.

It was a text from her head engineer letting her know that he had just arrived at work. She answered him back with a simple 'ok', happy she had gotten out of there in the knick of time. He was a nice guy but if he'd seen her like that, she'd never have heard the end of it.

Still not sleepy, Bulma spent the next few hours reading articles and playing games on her smartphone. At some point she dozed off, but an hour and a half later her eyes had fluttered open once more and she spent some time reading about the mating habits of polar bears.

Even with her door shut, Bulma could smell bacon cooking downstairs. Her stomach gave a loud growl but she was determined to stay in bed and get some real sleep if she could. Besides, if there was food being cooked, it was likely that Vegeta was near it. She'd rather starve then face him.

_Think about the baby Bulma, _she reminded herself.

"Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed and she threw back the covers and walked across the large room.

She knelt down in front of a silver miniature fridge, reaching inside to grab a plastic container of potato salad and a ginger ale. It wasn't the greatest meal in the world, but it would have to do.

No matter what, she was unwaveringly going to avoid Vegeta at all costs.

* * *

Bunny stared out of the window, her elbows scraping the windowsill. She sighed.

"Honestly, you should just go out there and talk to him," said her longtime friend Buri. "He seems lovely."

"Oh, Vegeta's nice enough," she said with another sigh. "But I just don't think he wants to be bothered right now."

Disheartened, Bunny took a seat next to her friend on the long green sofa in the sitting room. It was usually one of her favorite places, but not today. Not even the scores of potted pink and violet plants and the smell of her 'sun and sand' candles could make her relax. Her daughter and Vegeta were in real trouble and she couldn't think of any way to help them. She had called over Buri, a wealthy vineyard owner she had met twenty years ago, to help her come up with a plan but that had been a mistake. They had spent the last hour drinking and eating bon bons.

Buri patted her curly dark hair and lifted a porcelain cup of steaming hot rice wine to her lips. "I'll go out there and see what I can do. Just give me a moment, dear."

Bunny glanced quickly at the wine bottle and noticed it was half empty. "Maybe we'd better lay off the drinks," she commented.

"Whatever floats your boat," answered the other woman, gulping down the rest of the liquid in her glass. "But I've had a lot of experience with men if you can believe it."

Bunny didn't but what did it matter? It was clear to her that Vegeta and Bulma needed a gentle push in the right direction. They had fallen for each other before without her help. She could hardly imagine what her interference may encourage. But how should she go about it?

"You know," Buri said, sitting up straighter. "You could always just forget about it. They're adults and they can make their own decisions."

Bunny snorted.

"I'm serious! My first husband and I divorced because of his stupid, meddling mother-in-law. She just wouldn't stop interfering!"

Interested, Bunny decided to pay attention. "That doesn't sound horrible."

Buri wrinkled her brow. "She was a dictator and he was her willing stooge. She never left either of us alone and one day I got up and let them both have it! I couldn't take it anymore!"

There was a silence while Bunny thought over those words and while Buri seemed to be stewing. And then…

"I've got it!"

Her friend looked less than enthusiastic.

"Bunny, sweetheart. Whatever you're thinking… just drop it."

But it was too late, because Bunny had just had the greatest idea ever to get Vegeta and her daughter back together.

"Oh, I owe you everything!" she exclaimed cheerfully, standing up from the sofa and looking around. "Why, the solution was in front of me the whole time! Thank you!"

"What are you rambling about?"

Bunny hugged her friend. "I should leave them alone!"

Buri looked confused. "I repeat my last question."

Gosh, sometimes Buri could be a real airhead.

"I should give them some alone time! There are a few conferences that my husband declined to attend but I'll convince him to go anyway! We should be gone for one or two weeks at least!"

"I don't think-" her friend interrupted, but Bunny waved her off.

"It's perfect! They'll have no choice but to work things out! After all, Vegeta can hardly take care of himself!"

And even though Buri didn't seem to agree, Bunny was certain that she had just crafted the greatest scheme of all time.

* * *

It was gray and windy outside. Tree branches swayed, scattering birds into the air. Inside the enormous house, Bulma Brief flipped through television channels as she munched on carrot sticks.

The weekends were horrible when it came to TV shows. She was usually forced to watch reruns or old detective stories. She didn't really have anything else to do though.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

She recognized that sound. It immediately sprung fear into her heart.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

No… it couldn't be! They wouldn't!

Bulma dropped her carrot on the floor and sprung up from the couch. She ran to the bottom of the stairs where she saw her mother and father lugging large suitcases behind them.

"What's going on?" she asked, spreading her arms and placing both palms flat against each opposing wall. "Where do you guys think you're going?"

Her mother laughed and closed her eyes. "Dear, we're going for a little vacation!"

Dr. Brief snorted.

"Alright, alright," her mother said with a tiny smile. "We're headed to a couple fancy scientist things. Your father has volunteered to speak at a few lectures!"

Bulma turned to her father in bewilderment. What a traitor!

"I've hardly volunteered," he said, gently moving her arm and pulling two suitcases with great effort. "I've been hoodwinked is more like it."

"What does that mean?" asked Bulma, allowing her mother to step past. "Why are you going then?"

"It means," her father began, "that your mother called up some people and re-invited us to several boring conventions."

He looked less than happy and this gave Bulma some hope. At the very least she may be able to persuade her father to stay.

"Your father is very well-respected and it might look bad if we don't at least show our faces," her mother said with a pout. "Besides, there's plenty of time for us to enjoy the beach and the sunshine!"

"Until we get to London that is," Dr. Brief mumbled.

"Maybe I can go too?" asked Bulma, getting desperate.

Her father looked saddened. "I'm afraid we've only got two tickets for each event. Of course, I could try and schedule you in for a lecture!"

Bulma cringed. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Mrs. Brief patted her arm tenderly. "I'm going to miss you sweetie. But don't you worry! I'm sure you'll find something to do while we're gone. I'll bring you back a souvenir!"

If only she could tell her parents what she was really thinking! That she would rather disappear from the earth if she was going to be left with Vegeta in that house all by herself. And why did it feel like her mother had something to do with all of this in the worst way possible?

"Mother, I know what you're trying to do."

Her father opened the front door and began piling the suitcases out front. Mrs. Brief blinked.

"Bulma! Whatever are you talking about?"

Bulma didn't satisfy her scheming mother with an answer.

"We've got to go!" her father exclaimed from outside. "Our plane will leave soon! Unless you'd rather stay here that is!"

"Oh, I'm coming dear!" her mother answered.

The two women looked at each other and then Mrs. Brief gave Bulma a long hug.

"I love you sweetheart," she said cheerfully. "I'll call you as soon as we arrive!"

"I love you too mom."

"We'll be back in a week or two, darling!"

Bulma's eyes widened in horror but she couldn't stop her nimble mother who had already grabbed her suitcases and fled out of the door and into a waiting limousine.

She grabbed onto her stomach and leaned shakily against the wall.

* * *

Vegeta heard thunder overhead and paused in his push-up. He crashed into the floor.

"Damn," he muttered, picking himself up and wiping the blood from his lip.

He wasn't sure if he should continue to train in a storm. Every other time before this one the woman or her father had come out to stop him. If they hadn't yet, the storm must not be such a big deal.

Vegeta walked over to the lone window on the side of the GR and looked out. The sky was dark and filled with rumbling, gray clouds. It threatened rain at any time. He wiped sweat from his brow and a moment later, had immersed himself back into his training routine.

Punch. Kick. Jab. Roundhouse. Punch.

Lightning illuminated the entire room and the lights above flickered. Vegeta paused, then continued. He could hear the rain pouring down, pounding down on the roof above him. The lights inside the Gravity Room flickered once more.

Then they completely went out and Vegeta was left standing in complete darkness. The sudden drop in gravity caused his knees to buckle and he caught himself on the wall before he fell.

Sweat streaked down his exhausted body. He hadn't planned to stop his routine this suddenly but he couldn't continue without the Gravity Room. Perhaps the old man could go to a fuse box or something.

The door to the GR could be opened manually if necessary and so Vegeta shouldered it open. Fat drops of rain obscured his vision and fell upon the soggy grass. It was raining so hard that Vegeta, used to harsh weather conditions, almost wanted to stay inside the dark, unpowered room. He flared his ki once he left the comfort of the dry room but it was in vain. He was soaked within seconds.

Back inside Capsule Corporation, Vegeta tossed his boots beside the back door and looked around. It was eerily quiet and he could not sense any of his housemates. Lightning flashed in the room and a deafening roll of thunder quickly followed.

What had he missed? Vegeta had lost track of time during his training, but he was certain he had only been training for a couple of hours. It appeared as though he were all alone however. They must have left.

So be it.

Vegeta walked toward the stairs, still keeping an ear out for any signs of movement and activity. To be sure he was by himself, he began checking all the rooms on the second floor.

He pressed a button and the bathroom door slid open. Less annoying products cluttered the sink than usual, but there was no other indication that someone had left. In fact, the shower curtain was open and water droplets sprinkled the tile flooring.

He slid the door shut behind him and continued down the hall. When he got to her door, he paused and considered his options. If he took the same approach as before then he might unwillingly enter himself into a shouting match.

Vegeta pressed his ear against the door. Complete silence.

The next door was ajar but the Saiyan had no intentions of going inside. It was the guest bedroom and it was never used.

Turning his head however, he noticed that the walls were no longer dressed in dull, beige paint. One of them was painted a very deep blue.

Curious, Vegeta pushed the door aside and stepped in the room. His chest tightened when he realized that he was standing inside of his son's nursery. But it was not that which had struck him so deeply. It was the enormous golden-red sphere that had been painted over a dark amethyst sky that captured his attention. There, depicted so accurately that Vegeta reached out a palm as though he might touch it, was his home planet.

It was as though he were floating through space when he stared at it. The ground under his feet disappeared and he was lost in the dark, his sight only aided by twinkling stars.

_Who did this?_

He hadn't seen his planet in one piece since he was a boy and he felt something indescribable when he looked at the painting. On the opposite wall there was a picture of a shiny blue and green earth, bathed in bubbly, white clouds and vivid sunlight.

_Such a contrast!_

His world had been so imbued with disruption and struggle. Earth was far from perfect and the inhabitants were weaklings, but for one brief moment Vegeta was glad that his son was going to be born there instead.

"What are you doing in here?"

Turning his head Vegeta saw the woman in the middle of the doorway, her eyebrows furrowed. He had been so immersed in the illustrations that he hadn't sensed her presence.

"What is this?" he asked.

* * *

There was a long pause after his question.

If there was one thing that Bulma had not planned on, it was talking to Vegeta ever again. It was really unfortunate that she had caught him in the baby's room and wondered what he was doing inside. Her stupid curiosity had bested her once again.

He was staring at her intently, waiting for her answer. The silence grew longer.

"It's called a painting," Bulma answered, trying hard not to place any emotion behind her words or on her face. "Get it? Painting?"

A surefire way to annoy Vegeta was to speak to him like he was an idiot. One of his eyes twitched but he didn't say anything. Instead he placed a palm on the wall covered by the Planet Vegeta and raised an eyebrow.

"Who is responsible for this?"

"A painter," Bulma replied, "at my mother's direction."

The disbelief on his face was easy to read. She certainly understood where it was coming from. Who would have guessed Mrs. Brief to know anything about Vegeta's home planet? She had certainly been surprised.

Damn her burning curiosity!

"Is it… is it accurate?" she asked, stepping closer so that they stood side-by-side.

Vegeta's eyes roamed over the illustration and squinted.

"I don't see two suns," he said.

Bulma pointed a finger to the left side of the Planet Vegeta where two bright dots had been painted side-by-side.

"There," she said confidently. "I think that's them."

He was so close to the drawing his nose was almost touching it.

"So they are," he replied.

There was a silence.

"Well if you don't mind," Bulma said, stepping away from the Saiyan and moving toward a large rounded crib under a window, "I've got to finish setting up the room."

"What's that thing?"

He was gesturing toward the crib, made of white and tan hard plastic covered with gloss. It didn't look like a traditional crib either; instead of bars it had a large window for the baby to see out of. It was also rounded at the top, much like a bathtub.

"It's the baby's bed," Bulma answered. "Hand me a stuffed animal, will you?"

From the corner of the room Vegeta pulled out a green teddy bear and tossed it to her. After catching it, Bulma rested the bear onto the mattress and pressed a button. Instantly the mattress began to rise. Once it had risen, she pressed the same button to watch it sink.

"What purpose does it serve our son to go on rides when he's supposed to be asleep?" Vegeta asked with scrunched eyebrows.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "It's to help us pick him up. It puts less strain on our backs that way."

"I don't need a contraption to help me pick up an infant."

She ignored him.

"There's also a video baby monitor, a speaker system we can play music through, and air and heat circulation. And," she continued, "this is the best part."

She pressed a button and the crib began to gently sway side to side.

"Now I'm going to show you why this is the greatest crib you've ever laid eyes on."

Bulma grabbed Vegeta's hand and in that instant a dozen memories flashed through her mind. Like the time she had realized that his eyes were brown… and he had let her kiss him. It sent a pang to her heart that caused her to immediately drop his hand.

"Follow me," she said, recovering.

Walking down the stairs, Bulma tried as hard as she could to lose the feeling of holding Vegeta's hand in her own. She was past that now; he had left her with no choice. So why was it trembling? And why had he grabbed hers too?

She entered the kitchen and turned on a light. A TV near a cabinet dropped down and Bulma indicated it to the prince.

"Ta-dah!"

He stepped in front of her and shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me."

The monitor displayed the green teddy bear rocking slowly in the crib, a soft lullaby playing in the background.

"Isn't this great?" she asked. "Any television and computer in the house is hooked up wirelessly to the baby monitor. I can see and hear him no matter where I'm at or what time it is."

He looked impressed.

"What if I don't feel like watching the baby do whatever it is that baby's do all day?"

"Then change the source," Bulma said matter-of-factly. "Press the 'TV' button on the remote."

She looked around.

"I guess you should try and familiarize yourself with it as much as possible. You've got a few months at least if you plan on sticking around that long."

It had been what she was thinking but it was an accident nonetheless. Bulma definitely wanted no part in any conversation that related back to Vegeta's absence. She gave a curt nod and began walking toward the stairs to finish the nursery, but a hand grabbed her arm.

"No one believes you're just going to go upstairs and shut up, so spit it out," Vegeta said to her with an arched eyebrow.

There was a flash of lightening and the lights went off and came back on. Thunder rattled the windows.

Bulma involuntarily jumped. She hated thunder!

"I don't have time for this," she said to the Saiyan, trying to steady her breathing. "Seriously. What happened, happened and I don't have anything to say to you about it anymore."

Vegeta didn't let her go. Instead, he faced her toward a barstool.

"Sit."

* * *

She was eying him suspiciously but she did as he instructed and took a seat.

"Since when have you ever willingly started a conversation with me?" she asked.

He ignored her barb and walked over to the window. He watched as the rain poured down from the sky. She was right to be mistrustful of him. Even now he didn't want to talk to her.

"What do you want from me?" the woman inquired from behind him. "I've already told you that I don't have anything else to say to you."

Vegeta could not tell her what he wanted from her; he wasn't quite sure himself. He only knew that something between the two of them needed to change in order for him to function normally. He loathed their connection but he could hardly deny it.

He turned to face her. The woman was leaning forward on the counter with both hands curled under her chin. Their eyes met.

Gah! His heart was knocking so loudly against his ribcage he was certain that the woman could hear it. Her blue eyes were demanding an apology that he had given in his dreams but could not bear to mutter aloud.

"Why did you leave?"

The words were soft but they echoed loudly in Vegeta's ears. Had anyone else asked him that particular question he would have shot off an angry retort, but he couldn't bring himself to do it to her. At least not right now.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

Her voice was gaining a few octaves and that put Vegeta at ease. He unlocked himself from her gaze.

"It was something I had to do."

Silence.

"I don't expect you to understand."

The woman didn't say anything, which was uncharacteristic for her but it put Vegeta at ease. Maybe he could talk and get this over with without her interrupting. Perhaps she wouldn't ask him any questions and they could go on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

He cracked his neck and walked over to the window again. It was so dark that he could see nothing but the dim glow of garden lights in the backyard.

"Maybe I would understand if you told me," came her low voice through the quiet.

Tell her? He let out an involuntary laugh at the foreign concept.

"I'm serious, Vegeta. You can trust me, you know."

_Can I? Can I trust anyone?  
_

She had puzzled him. How could he trust her when he did not trust himself?

"I noticed something was bothering you before… before you left," the woman continued, and Vegeta heard the stool scrape across the floor. "Does that have anything to do with it?"

She was beside him now, her body close enough that he could smell the scent of her food-scented shampoo. It was pleasant enough.

Vegeta let a long pause go on before he decided to answer her.

"You asked me about my mother," he said, placing a palm on the cold glass in front of him. "Have you forgotten?"

The woman shook her head, a loose tendril of blue hair falling into her eyes as she looked up at him.

"You said she died when you were little."

"Of a rare illness," Vegeta said with a straight face, his eyes betraying no emotion.

"Vegeta," began the woman, but he cut her off before she could pity him.

"It doesn't matter," he said curtly. "I accepted her death long ago and your questions meant nothing to me."

He frowned.

"But that night I…"

And it was here that he stopped, the images from that horrible nightmare haunting him instantly. It was with great strength that he continued, feeling weak for his sudden fear. He was the Prince of all Saiyans and he was afraid of nothing.

"I dreamt of her and Frieza."

The look on the woman's face meant that she knew what he meant and he was glad she was competent enough to understand. He had absolutely no intentions of recounting the morbid tale for her.

"How often did it happen?" she asked.

"When my eyes were closed."

She placed a hand on his right bicep and squeezed. He flinched from the contact.

"Does it still happen?"

Vegeta shook his head. "No, but what does that matter? It could happen again at any instant."

"The woman shook her head and sighed. "Is that what this is all about? Honestly?"

He turned toward her and grabbed her wrist in his hand, not understanding why she wasn't afraid of him. What was going on in that head of hers?

"You fool! You nearly died because of me! And you wouldn't be the first! You haven't the slightest idea who you're dealing with! I'm not that idiot ex-boyfriend of yours!"

She pulled away, the expression on her face difficult to read.

"I know perfectly well about your past, Vegeta and I don't care! Stop treating me like I'm a child! I told you over and over again that I can handle myself! You are _not_ the first unpredictable Saiyan that I've ever met! And furthermore, I have _never_ expected you to be like anyone else, so shut up already!"

She pounded the glass in front of her and blew out a long breath.

"You're _such_ an idiot. I thought you were never coming back."

Vegeta grunted. "You came to that conclusion fairly quickly despite _not caring _about my past."

* * *

Well, when he had a point, he had a point. Bulma didn't really have an answer for that.

"You didn't tell me where you were going or even that you were, so what exactly was I supposed to think?" she asked him. "I mean, you didn't exactly seem thrilled about…"

Vegeta looked down at her, his eyebrow arched. He didn't answer.

"It was a reasonable conclusion to draw," she said quietly. "That's all that I'm saying."

Neither of them spoke for a minute. Bulma rested her hands on her belly, starting to feel self-conscious about their conversation. What were the two of them doing here? Why was this so difficult to talk about for her?

Bulma gave Vegeta a sideways glance. He was staring out of the window without speaking, his brown eyes gleaming as lightning flashed across his face. She felt that pang in her chest again and turned away. She was beginning to realize why his leaving had bothered her so much.

But she was never going to say it, not even to herself.

"You should have been honest with me," Bulma told him, walking to the pantry and looking inside. "Even if you still decided to leave, I think I deserved to know why."

"You would have made me stay."

Bulma grabbed a sleeve of crackers and joined Vegeta again at the window.

"True," she admitted. "But give me more credit. I'd have understood why you felt you needed to go."

He looked down at her, his eyes focused intently on hers.

"Would you have?"

Bulma thought carefully, slipping a salted cracker into her mouth. From what she gathered, Vegeta's past had finally caught up with him. When she took his words into consideration she realized she no longer felt angry with him, only sorry for him. Besides, she wasn't a Saiyan and she had no idea what it felt like to be one on Earth.

"I would have understood," she repeated. "And if you really needed to get away on your own for awhile, I would have understood that too."

He blinked a few times and turned back to the window.

"Perhaps I was wrong to doubt you."

Vegeta's revelation caused her eyes to widen. She decided not to speak just in case he had anything else to add. She was right to be silent. His jaw was clenched as he appeared to struggle for words. Finally, he relaxed.

"I don't plan to leave again."

"You don't have to stay here forever, you know," Bulma assured him with a tiny smile that she hoped put him at ease.

"What if I intend to?"

Bulma offered the sleeve of crackers to him.

"Good."

Something instantly changed between them in that moment; even the air felt lighter. Bulma was happier and she could tell that Vegeta was too, even if he didn't say anything. He accepted the crackers and ate a few, looking more peaceful than she had seen him that night.

It was too soon to say if things between the two of them could return to normal, and Bulma wasn't quite sure what normal entailed. She remembered shouting matches and arguments, fixing the Gravity Room, bringing food and falling asleep together.

A bolt of lightening lit up the kitchen and when it had disappeared, so had all of the lights in the room.

"Great," Bulma said, irritated. "There goes the power."

There were completely engulfed in darkness. Bulma could barely see her hand in front of her face. Beside her, Vegeta had finished all of the crackers and didn't appear disturbed by the sudden loss of electricity.

"This is much better," he said after her complaint. "All of those lights were annoying."

Bulma felt her way to the island counter. "Yeah, well those _annoying_ lights are what keeps all the food cold. I need to find the fuse box fast."

In a flash, Vegeta was behind her, his arms gripping her shoulders. He turned her away from the counter and toward the window. Outside, lightening went off like fireworks!

"Kame! I've never seen anything like that before!"

Peals of thunder interrupted her speech and she whimpered involuntarily.

Vegeta smirked at her. "You haven't changed at all, woman. Still think you're going to get struck by lightening in this fancy palace of yours."

Bulma tightened her lips together and didn't speak. He was right in a way. Maybe it was time she wasn't so afraid of thunderstorms. They were really beautiful, actually and the rain was soothing.

She rested her head on Vegeta's shoulder and she felt him tense, but a second later he had moved his arm and placed it around her waist so that his palm rested on her stomach.

Almost immediately there was a sensation that she had never felt before. She gasped as she felt a tumbling motion from within her belly.

"What in the…!"

Vegeta had snatched his hand away from her stomach and whipped her around to face him. He stared daggers at her stomach.

"Did you feel that, woman?"

Bulma winced as it happened again. "Ow, it's strong."

Her eyes widened as she began to understand what was going on. She grabbed Vegeta's hands and squealed. He flinched at her loud voice.

"It's the baby! He's kicking! Put your hands here!"

Bulma had never felt so excited about anything in her life. It was one thing to be pregnant, it was quite another to feel a life inside of you. It made everything very, very real. She placed Vegeta's hands on the top of her stomach, under her navel.

It happened again! This time it was softer, almost like he were apologizing for the first one.

There were tears in her eyes that she could hardly stop from rolling down her cheeks. Vegeta's mouth was open and she couldn't tell if he was in shock over the baby's first movements, or that she was crying because of it.

He put his face eye level to her belly button and glared.

"Boy! Stop that!"

Bulma let out a laugh so loud she was sure the neighbors could hear her. She ruffled Vegeta's hair affectionately as her tears dried.

"It's okay, Vegeta," she said as she felt another hard jab. "That's what… that's what he's supposed to do!"

"Is it hurting you?" he wanted to know, standing up and placing his other hand on her stomach too.

Bulma shook her head. "Not at all. Ah! There it is again!"

She laughed once more and Vegeta shook his head.

"Crazy woman."

Bulma wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Behind them thunder rocked the house.

They were like that for awhile, neither one of them speaking or moving; they just stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, letting the darkness of night swallow them whole.

* * *

**A/N: One more chapter to go! See you at the end!**


	26. As Always, The End

**A/N**: Yes, it's here. I hope all of you enjoyed this story playing out in real time, haha.

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is the only thing I own. Oh, and Dragonball Z. I totally own Dragonball Z.

* * *

It happened in darkness. The horrible pain attacked her lower abdomen in waves. Bulma sat up clutching her enormous belly. Her gasp woke up Vegeta who had been resting beside her. The pain struck once more and she inhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes closed.

In a moment she had been swept out of bed and into Vegeta's arms. Her memories of what happened later were lucky to exist, as they were mostly fuzzy, masked in the ensuing chaos.

Honking cars. Wind. Bright lights. Vegeta.

"Get her a room now!"

Finally, a soft bed. The bustle of hurried nurses. The gentle voice of her doctor.

"Relax Ms. Brief. Everything's fine."

The door kept opening and shutting. Why? Cool instruments touching her ears, chest, and stomach. Chair scraping on the floor. A needle in her hand and one in her spine. Her voice.

"SHIT."

"How are we feeling? Still doing okay?"

"DAMMIT!"

Soft music overhead. Vegeta's lips on her forehead. A large TV on the wall playing a stupid soap opera. A mouthful of ice chips. Several workers bringing her pillows and blankets. Her bedside telephone ringing over and over. On speakerphone.

"Honey! Honey, how is everything? Oh, this is so exciting! I can't wait to see you and the baby! Your father and I are in the waiting room! They said we can't come in until you've had him! I'm not going to protest or anything because your father said you'd prefer us out here, but how rude! I love you, dear!"

Her forehead was sweating. Vegeta's hands had moved to her shoulders. A sheet was draped over her open legs. She could hardly feel the contractions anymore but she pushed. She pushed hard. The doctor had cupped his hands together. She pushed.

Bulma threw back her head. Her hair was flat against her head and cheeks. A nurse dug in her pocket and found a hair tie. The purple scrunchie provided instant relief. She closed her eyes.

"Push, Bulma. Come on!"

Her teeth clenched so hard she could have sworn they had receded back into her skull.

"You're doing great. Just a little more, alright? I can see the head!"

Bulma let out a roar so loud that the nurse closest to her put a hand to his ear and winced. Apologies were due later. For now, there was only pushing.

"Almost there!"

Vegeta's hands were no longer on her shoulders. They were on her back. He was holding her up when all she wanted to do was fall back.

"Please, get him out of me!"

A scuffle. Chair scraping backwards. Excited cries. A loud, piercing wail and a cheer.

"Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

Bulma felt tears sliding down her cheeks and they mingled with her sweat. She watched blurrily as Vegeta cut the umbilical cord on a screaming red newborn that was whisked away before she could see him. Instant anxiety.

"Vegeta, is he…"

"Stop worrying, woman. He's fine."

Her panic subsided. The nurse had the baby in his arms, wrapped in a fluffy, warm towel.

Bulma looked down at her newest creation. The baby's eyes were squinty in the harsh hospital lights but his mouth was wide open. A tuft of purple hair the color of her new hair bow peeked out from under the cloth. He was absolutely the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen.

"What are we gonna name the little guy?" asked a friendly nurse with a clipboard.

Bulma smiled as she looked over at Vegeta.

"I'd like to name him Trunks."

The Saiyan arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Trunks Vegeta Brief."

From his corner of the room, the father gave a tiny smirk.

* * *

Between the cooing of the woman's parents and the incessant wailing of his infant son, Vegeta had no peace. He sat patiently while doctors probed the woman with their equipment, watched in silence as her parents noisily celebrated in the hospital room and remained impassive while the woman argued with nurses who refused to let her walk around in her 'condition'. Finally, after three days of the madness, they were allowed to return home.

Now he stood in the hallway across from Bulma's bedroom. Inside she had been sleeping for several hours, her arms folded gently across Trunks who had also fallen asleep.

Vegeta walked inside and watched the two from a safe distance. The woman's parents had made it clear that she should not be disturbed and his own experience had taught him not to wake a slumbering baby without good reason. All the same, he felt exceptionally pulled to wherever they were. On some level he understood that the feeling was natural, but he could not help wishing it were not there.

"Ve… Vegeta?"

The woman had awoken, her eyes blinking slowly as she yawned.

"Yes?"

She smiled and motioned for him to come over to her. "Must get bored standing over there all the time by yourself."

"I'm fine, woman."

"I'm sure," was her response.

Vegeta walked over to the bed and gave his son a quick lookover. His tiny chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed.

"Look," said the woman softly. "He has your smile."

Curiously, Vegeta peered once again at the baby. He wasn't smiling at all. He was scowling.

"Yes, well I suppose you think that's funny."

She did. She was laughing in her pillow. Suddenly she frowned, her smile turning into a grimace.

"What's the matter?" he asked, leaning over to examine her more fully. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but he was too unfamiliar with the female body to lean on his own intuition.

Bulma closed her eyes. "My back is killing me. I think it has something to do with my boobs."

At the last word Vegeta's eyes quickly traveled downward. He had grown quite accustomed to the new size of the woman's breasts and took many opportunities to inspect them when he could.

"Plus it wouldn't hurt to lose a little weight," she said with another wince. "I thought it was supposed to fall off really quickly."

"You've just given birth to my heir," Vegeta told her firmly. "I'd be surprised if your body ever fully returned to normal."

Bulma's eyes widened to twice their normal size. It took a moment before Vegeta realized what he had said and its implications. The woman sat up and grabbed his shirt collar in both her hands.

"You had better take that back or you're going to be miserable for the rest of your life."

Her display of strength despite her condition was impressive.

"I take it back, woman. For now," he added once she had let him go.

"Good. Now I'm going back to sleep. Unless you want to keep talking and wake up this little bundle of joy."

Both Vegeta and Bulma looked over at Trunks who was still asleep but beginning to move, a sure sign that he'd be screaming for something soon enough. Vegeta grunted, annoyed that he was being asked to leave but willing to do so. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd be too far away.

He promptly left and closed her bedroom door. Then he took his place across from her room and leaned against the wall.

* * *

The two day old text message had gone unanswered. Yamcha knew that he should send the obligatory 'congratulations', but he hadn't felt up to it. He thought Bulma would understand, given their history and all.

So why did he keep thinking about it?

"Really, I don't know why you won't respond back," Puar said, flying into the living room and taking a seat next to him on the sofa. "It's not like she's asking you to be the baby's godfather."

Her response startled him. Puar had never been on Bulma's side before and he immediately said so. She frowned.

"I'm not on anyone's side," she said, flicking her tail. "I just don't think it's the end of the world to reply. Besides, you guys are still friends."

"I guess so," muttered Yamcha, flicking the TV on with the remote. "We haven't spoken to each other in awhile. It feels weird."

"Do what makes you happy," Puar said with a smile. "I'm sure Bulma will understand either way."

On the television screen a baseball game was in full swing. A pudgy man was running quickly across the bases and the crowd was going wild. Yamcha remembered that his baseball training sessions were going to be starting soon and he suddenly felt a lot happier. His life was a lot better than it had been, that was for sure. Also, he had been dating a lot of women and had pretty much forgotten about his ex-girlfriend until her text.

Yamcha thought he might even go see her but he didn't think about it for too long. His life might be awesome at the moment, but a glimpse of Bulma could derail his happiness in a heartbeat. It was a possibility at least.

No, it was better not to see her.

"You know, I'm glad that Bulma's happy," he told Puar. "Really."

"That's good to hear," she answered.

"No, I'm serious," Yamcha said indignantly. "I mean, maybe on some level I wish we would've worked out. But then I see her in this situation where she's sort of settling down and starting a family… and I'm sort of happy that's not me."

Puar's ears perked, but she remained silent.

"I'm not ready to be a dad. I don't think I ever will be. If it had been me and not you-know-who, I'd feel like my life was over."

"Don't sell yourself short, Yamcha," Puar said to him. "I think you'd be a great father."

He shrugged. "Better not to test that theory anytime soon."

In an instant, the tiny blue shape-shifter had transformed into a fat pink infant with curly blue hair. Yamcha thought it was kind of cute at first; it kind of looked like Bulma. Unfortunately it sounded a lot like her too, once Puar got into the role.

"WAAAHHH! WAAAHHH!"

Yamcha instinctively covered his ears. Oh, man. He was luckier than he thought.

When Puar had given up on the baby act and returned to normal, she flopped down on the sofa and exhaled loudly.

"That is exhausting."

He pet her on the head. "Tell me about it. I don't know how people do it. Someone should really send Chi-Chi some flowers or something."

He refocused on the baseball game for the next half hour, making small talk with his furry best friend and downing cans of grape soda. It was incredibly relaxing and Yamcha was glad he had made himself take a few hours everyday to engage in indolence. He had been training nonstop to prepare for the Androids arrival and these moments helped him forget.

"STRIKE THREE!" shouted Puar, a willing participant in most of Yamcha's lazy endeavors.

Yamcha's phone began to buzz and he grabbed it. It was his alarm reminding him to meet up with Krillin later on for a quick sparring session at the Kame House.

He paused when he began to set down the phone and then looked at the screen again. He found Bulma's text message and read it to himself once again.

_He's finally here… Thanks for everything Yamcha. You're amazing._

Yamcha stared for a long while, until the only thing he could see were green and gray boxes filled with dark text. He began tapping.

_It was no problem. Congratulations._

He paused, then added something else.

_I'm really happy for you._

* * *

Only two and a half months had gone by since the birth of her firstborn, but Bulma had gone straight into maternity overdrive. She was with Trunks all day long; he was with her while she ran errands, worked out, held phone conferences, etc. Bulma was well aware how crazy she was driving everyone. Even her sweet, doting mother had retreated from her several times, refusing to be in her daughter's path if she could help herself.

Now the blue-haired scientist stood hawk-eyed at the infant's crib, her back aching from standing for so long. She was wondering when it'd be a good time to take a rest. Trunks had been asleep for awhile now. In fact, she had sort of lost track of how long she had been watching over him.

"Well! I knew I'd find you in here."

It was her father in the doorway and he was dressed peculiarly for the day in a bright red polo and plaid golf pants. He even had a baseball cap on his head, smashing his hair onto his forehead.

"Before you ask," he said, obviously noticing her look of confusion, "I'm going to go golfing with a few guys I met at one of those conferences I attended. The silver lining I suppose."

Bulma winced. "You're not going to ask me to go are you? I really hate golfing, dad. It's on a list I have of things I refuse to do before I die."

Her father waved his hands in front of his face. "Certainly not. Especially not after… well, the last time we tried."

Some muddy golf balls and a waterlogged caddy came to mind and Bulma laughed.

"Actually I've come to see if you wouldn't mind looking over the lab for me while I'm gone? I have a lot of projects I'm overseeing at the moment and it'd help me a lot if you could check in every once in awhile."

The offer was tempting. Bulma had practically been living on the second floor of the house. But there was a pretty fair reason for that and she stuck to her guns.

"I can't leave Trunks here alone, dad," she reminded him, resting her elbows on the crib railing and staring at the sleeping baby. "He cries for me a lot."

Her father shrugged. "Thought I'd give it a shot. I have to be honest though dear. I think you'd be a bit more rested if you took some time off from watching the baby. Your mother and I are more than happy to look after little Trunks."

Dr. Brief walked over and placed an arm around her shoulder, looking into the crib.

"Your mother's even been complaining that she hasn't gotten to see enough of him!"

"You mean she hasn't gotten enough time to take pictures of him to show all of her friends," Bulma said firmly. "Even though she knows how quiet I'm trying to keep the whole thing."

It was ridiculous really that anyone with her last name try to stay away from the media, but Bulma had done just that. Furthermore, she had contracts with the hospital staff to keep her delivery completely private. If any mention was made to the press about anything regarding her pregnancy, their very expensive monthly salaries would immediately stop. Bulma wasn't necessarily accusing her mother of upsetting her quiet world, but Mrs. Brief _did _have a few questionable, loudmouthed acquaintances.

Her father looked put out as he leaned over the baby's crib.

"Oh well, I may as well admit it. _I haven't seen enough of Trunks!"_

Bulma gave her dad a puzzled look. "Really? Mom hasn't been sharing?"

Dr. Brief shook his head. "Not even a bit. You know your mother dear." He sighed. "Your hesitation comes from a good place, dear."

He kissed her cheek and turned to leave, but Bulma grabbed his sleeve. She felt her eye twitching. She must have picked that up from Vegeta. She knew what had to be done however, so she clenched both of her teeth and forced the next two sentences out.

"If you really want to, you can have Trunks for the night. Is that okay?"

Her father's woe turned into glee.

"I knew you'd come around!" he exclaimed, a bit too loudly perhaps.

The tiny, swaddled infant began to move, his arms dislodging themselves from between the folds of his fuzzy blue blanket. Then his slate gray eyes slowly opened.

"Why hello there Mr. Trunks!" her father exclaimed, reaching down to grab his grandson with both hands. "Are we finished with our nap? Yes we are!"

Resting on her father's shoulder, Trunks could barely move his own head, but he could certainly open his mouth. Bulma braced herself when he closed his eyes and threw his mouth open.

He yawned.

"Now, now Bulma," said Dr. Brief, patting the baby lightly on his back. "No need to worry. He's in very safe hands. Go enjoy the rest of the day! He's fine with his old grandpa!"

"What about golf, dad?" Bulma asked as her father gently guided her out of the nursery. "Won't the guys be disappointed?"

"They'll live," said her father with a smile, and he turned back into the room with a happy, gurgling baby on his shoulder.

* * *

His personal dungeon was lit red and gold; intense waves of heat made his vision blurry. A powerful lunge to his right threw his lithe body into the fiery blast of energy. His hands shot up to his chest and in an instant, the Saiyan prince had violently struck the ball of flames into the opposing wall.

The instant the burning sphere hit the paneling, large pieces of tile were melted through. Some fell onto the ground in fractured pieces while others turned to ash. When the blast of energy had fizzled out, there was a large, gaping hole on the side of the Gravity Room and anyone could see right in.

"Shit," Vegeta mumbled, his eyes adjusting to the bright light of earth's sun as it fell upon the floor in front of him.

"_Lowering gravity from 400 to 300."_

As the calm voice continued to announce the decrease in gravitational pull by increments of 100, Vegeta slowly felt his body become lighter and his vision became clearer. Unfortunately with this clarity came the sudden knowledge that he was in a lot of trouble.

"VEGETA!"

And not a moment too soon.

From the basketball sized hole in the wall, Vegeta saw the woman's head. Her teeth were bared.

"What were you thinking?" she shouted as she stuck her head through the gap. "_Do you know how long my dad and I worked on this?_"

"Not nearly long enough," Vegeta muttered, turning his back on her, knowing full well she'd be coming in through the door to continue her shouting.

Less than thirty seconds later, the woman had found her way inside the Gravity Room, the look on her face less than friendly. She turned around and gave Vegeta a particularly stern look. It was one that he had been unfamiliar with lately since she was not around him very much, but recognized right away.

"Before you destroy my ears, woman," Vegeta said as he folded his arms against his chest, "I didn't do it on purpose. I'm stronger than I used to be."

He fully expected her to start yelling again, but to his surprise she did not. Instead she sighed and leaned against the wall near the damaged wall. She looked tired. For the first time, Vegeta noticed that the infant was not within her reach.

"I'm letting my parents watch him for the night," the woman said, covering her face with her hands. "And not of my own accord."

The prince surveyed the woman with a degree of anxiety. She had not been herself lately and he did not know what to expect from her.

"He's a Saiyan," he said to her. "He doesn't need to be coddled."

"He's also a _baby_," the woman countered, uncovering her face. "He needs his mother."

"Whatever. What are you going to do about this hole?"

For a brief moment Vegeta saw a flash of anger fly across her face, but then it was gone. Bulma stepped back from the wall and gave it a long, searching look.

"If I start today, maybe I can be finished by the end of the month. Truthfully, I don't have a timeframe. My father installed what we thought were Vegeta-proof tiling. It took a few days just to get the ceramic fitted. Until today, I sort of believed the thing was indestructible."

Vegeta's left eye twitched. He certainly didn't have until the end of the month.

"In case you've forgotten, woman," he said with a frown, "those androids will be here in less than three months. I don't have the time to wait around doing nothing while the machine is broken."

Bulma threw her hands up in the air. "Well it's not my fault, Vegeta! I've got several bots I can give you to train with, but they're pretty useless without the simulator."

She blew hair out of her face. "Shit."

"Precisely my point."

The woman chewed on a bright yellow fingernail. "I suppose sparring with Goku is out of the question."

Vegeta scowled but didn't answer. It was certainly a suggestion but he had no intention of demonstrating to Kakarot that he had yet to reach the status of a Super Saiyan. It was humiliating enough that he hadn't been the first.

While the woman was still silent, Vegeta had time to weigh his options. If the Namek were stronger he would consider him an possibility despite the risk that he may report Vegeta's condition to Kakarot. He cursed himself for blowing up the Gravity Room and causing such an infuriating predicament. Because he had no sparring partner to speak of and no simulator, training on lowly Earth gravity was not an option. He furrowed his brow.

"I'll need to train somewhere else," Vegeta stated firmly.

There was a silence and then the woman sighed. "I thought you might say that." She gave him a look that seemed sad, but the prince couldn't quite tell. "Follow me."

Vegeta walked closely behind the woman across the backyard and inside Capsule Corporation. She led him to the very same basement he had come across after he had awoken from his painful unconsciousness all those years ago. Dr. Brief was not here however, and he did not have to push any doors down to get inside.

They took metal stairs that kept descending further and further into the earth, until the only light came from wall panels overhead. The woman pressed a code into a control panel next to a very large steel door. When it slid open it revealed an enormous room and sitting on the floor on stubby, metal legs was a white and blue pod with black lettering on the side.

"What is this?" Vegeta asked, surprised that this had been here all this time and he had had no clue. "Well! Explain yourself!"

"It's a ship," Bulma said, walking forward and knocking on the front of it. The loud bang echoed around the room. "As you can see it's plenty big enough and can hold a decent amount of food and equipment."

How had something so gigantic escaped Vegeta's knowledge? He circled around the pod, his eyes scouring its surface. It was pristine, shiny and sturdy. It was a lot like the one he had traveled to Earth in but larger.

"So how much food will you be needing out there?" asked Bulma from across the room.

Vegeta continued inspecting the ship. "I haven't even decided which planet I'll be going to. I need some time to think."

Bulma placed her hands on her hips. "Guess I'd better get started on that Gravity Room then. Can't get fixed by itself." She paused. "When are you going to leave?"

Vegeta could hear the uncertainty in her voice, and while he did not particularly like it, he understood it. He faced her with a smirk. "Trying to get rid of me, woman?"

She smiled and pressed a few buttons near the door. It slid open and she stood underneath its sensor which kept it open.

"Not yet," was her answer, and the door slid shut as she disappeared on the other side.

* * *

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Trunks had a set of lungs that rivaled his daughter's in every way. In fact, his might have been more powerful.

"WAAAAAAAHHHH! WAAAAAAHHHH!"

"Just a minute Trunksy-Wunksy!" Dr. Brief cooed, patting the baby's back gently and swaying in place. "Grandma will be back in just a moment. Look! Look at me!"

Dr. Bref reached onto the sofa and seized a fuzzy blue bear. He waved it sideways in front of Trunks' face. For a moment the infant seemed satisfied. His crying stopped and his eyes widened at the sight of the stuffed animal. The scientist exhaled in relief.

"WAAAAAHHHHHH!"

The baby's tears had started again and the bear had been mercilessly thrown to the floor.

"I'm here! I'm here!"

Mrs. Brief flew into the living room with a plastic bottle in her hand. She motioned for her husband to hand her the screaming child and he did so with reluctant pleasure. When the bottle reached Trunks' mouth the crying instantly stopped and he began to eat so fast it seemed as though he were inhaling rather than drinking the formula.

Both mister and Mrs. Brief took a weary seat on the couch.

"Did you see him throw that bear?" asked Dr. Brief with a wry smile. "It was quite remarkable, dear. Most children his age can't even hold a toy in their hands, let alone throw it halfway across the room."

"He's Vegeta's boy through and through," his wife answered with a grand smile.

Well that was certainly true. The boy's strength for his age was outstanding. He could already hold up his head and had taken to grabbing the fingers of whomever was feeding him in an adorable attempt to hold his own bottle. The older man could see an independent streak in the baby as well. Trunks seemed to enjoy being left alone at times, taking solace in the quiet that surrounded him.

"I don't care how much he cries," said his wife as she adjusted the bottle, "I'm so happy that Bulma let us spend the day with him."

"I agree."

"Maybe she'll go on vacation with Vegeta and let us take him for an entire week! Oh, it'd be lovely!"

Dr. Brief frowned. "I don't think there'll be too many vacations for awhile, dear. Those androids will be here soon enough and everyone will be much too busy."

His wife chuckled. "You've never been an optimist. Vegeta's so strong now and Goku's been training everyday. That's what Bulma said, right?"

"Right."

"So just how long could it take? Those boys are going to win! There's no doubt about it!"

Dr. Brief had no desire to crush his wife's hopes so he smiled and nodded. His open happiness was a façade that he used routinely around others less knowledgeable about Earth's impending doom. It was the only way he was ever happy nowadays; even his daughter had no idea how heavily the impending android battle weighed on his mind.

But today everything was better. Staring into the hungry, half-closed eyes of his only grandson, Dr. Brief truly felt joy. There was always a silver lining, wasn't there?

* * *

The sun was blazing in the distance. Goku lay in the grass outside of his home with his eyes wide open. Chi-Chi, her hair disheveled and her purple dress wrinkly, looked like a tiny angel, curled under his arm. Her red sphere earrings glittered in the sunlight and Goku touched one with his free hand.

"Those things sure are shiny."

"My father got them for me a long time ago," she said, closing her eyes.

"He's a good shopper."

The conversation drifted away but Goku didn't mind. The two of them had been like this for the entire day, slipping in and out of sleepy consciousness. Goku was tired from his constant training regime. Chi-Chi because of her worry.

"Dad! Look!"

Goku lifted his head in time to see his son perform an incredibly complicated series of kicks in the air. The boy landed on the ground with his knees bent and one arm straight between them. The other was behind his back, pointing toward the sky.

"Hey! That was great, Gohan!"

"Thanks!"

Goku would have liked to join his son in his acrobatics but he couldn't bring himself to leave his wife by herself, even if he'd only be gone for a little while. She had been really nice about him needing to train so much. Besides, he missed her.

He settled back into the tall grass and let out a long breath, closing his eyes. Less than three months to go and he wasn't nervous yet. His lack of anxiety unnerved him to say the least. Was he really so confident in everyone's abilities? He had been preparing his son and checking in on Krillin and Piccolo constantly. Goku hadn't met with anyone else though. In fact, he hadn't seen Vegeta in such a long time that he began to wonder if the boy from the future even existed anymore.

Man, he was really in a bind. He thought about going over to check on how he and Bulma were doing but he wasn't really sure if he should. Besides, Chi-Chi had talked to Bulma pretty regularly at some point in the past year. Goku knew he shouldn't risk going over to Capsule Corp if everything was fine. He couldn't think of a single thing Vegeta hated more than him.

A purple dragonfly buzzed past Goku's face and he opened his eyes again. The sky was clear and blue, the sun burned a bright yellow. In the long branches of leafy trees nearby he could hear birds cheerfully chirping. It was one of the best days of the year and he was glad he was going to spend it with his family, even if the peace weren't going to last for very long.

A dark cloud began to hang over his head and he sighed. When this ordeal was over, he just wanted everything to go right back to normal. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but Goku knew he was going to try his very best no matter what.

The world depended on it.

* * *

If all of her calculations were correct, Bulma had successfully navigated through stars and charted a course to Nemet, a dwarf planet with over four-hundred and fifty times Earth's gravity. It was so far away that Vegeta would certainly require a spaceship and loads of supplies. Furthermore, it would take him several days to arrive. Luckily she had anticipated all of this already and had spent the past three days making sure the basement spaceship was ready for lift off.

She began to inspect her work from inside the ship.

"Closet full of boots and Saiyan armor, check." She turned around from the control panel. "A pantry full of food, check."

Bulma continued walking around the large ship, switching on lights and checking the radar, autopilot and fuel systems. It wasn't a new pod or anything, but it had been taken care of like one. It was almost in perfect condition if she didn't count the chipped paint on the outside.

She took a brief look at her watch. It was still early in the evening. She could get back to fixing that stupid Gravity Room if she wanted to. Her mother was watching Trunks upstairs again so there was no reason to prolong it any further.

Bulma turned to leave the room and gasped as she ran straight into Vegeta's chest.

"Ouch!"

Her nose smarted and she pushed off of him and used her free hand to cover her face.

"What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?" she demanded to know. "This has got to be the six hundredth time!"

He was staring at the ship behind her and didn't respond.

"Oh no, Vegeta. That's fine. I'm not here at all. Don't mind me," said Bulma, irritated that she was being ignored after working for so long.

"What?" he asked, and it was obvious that he had not heard her. "What are you talking about, woman?"

She narrowed her eyes but didn't have it in her to start an argument with the man. So Bulma grabbed Vegeta's hand in hers and pulled him through the open door of the ship.

"Let's take a grand tour, shall we?"

She entered into the main room, which looked an awfully lot like the GR. This was partly because of the decoration, but mostly because it acted as a gravity simulator for intense training.

"You can train here. The control panel for this is in the middle of the room," Bulma told Vegeta as she waved her hand around. "Don't you dare push it past the limit. It'll destroy the ship. It's just a temporary training room, so it only goes to 200g."

Vegeta tapped his foot on the white tiled floor and knocked a fist against the walls.

Bulma motioned for him to follow her to another much smaller room where there was a bed, dresser, closet, TV and small circular window. A small door led to an immaculate bathroom with a shower, sink, mirror and toilet.

"Obviously this is the bedroom. I doubt you'll be spending too much time back here since you'll be training. But there's a television and everything. You should be able to get some satellite channels I guess-"

Vegeta shot her a look that cut her off mid-sentence. "I don't think I'll have time for channel surfing, woman."

"Let me show you the main control room then," Bulma said, and she walked out of the bedroom, past the training center and into another door at the very front of the ship. It all looked very high tech and Bulma was quite proud of it.

"So, how do you like it?" she asked, leaning against the front window.

Vegeta walked around and looked around. He ran his hand across the dashboard, the windshield and several flat TV monitors.

"Does this blasted thing know where it's going?"

"You know it," she answered. "I've already charted it, plus there are backups installed in case you get off course. I've even got the takeoff scheduled for tomorrow morning right as the sun goes up. It'll come back whenever you're ready to. Which reminds me, do you have any idea how to steer this thing?"

Vegeta's brow furrowed. "It's almost exactly like the ships I remember from my home planet. I'd commanded hundreds of ships like this one before you were even born."

Bulma smiled, seriously doubting that but willing to ignore it. "You like it then? That's good. I was worried you'd find something to complain about."

The Saiyan arched an eyebrow. "Just give me a moment. I'm sure I'll find something."

Rolling her eyes, Bulma turned to leave the ship. Instead she was stopped by hand on her arm. Spinning around she was thrown face to face with Vegeta; his dark eyes were boring into hers.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

She raised a teal eyebrow at him and looked down at her arm where he had seized her.

"I'm going to work on that gravity room you blew up. Remember? I should put it back in shape so that if for some reason you come back early, you've got somewhere to train."

Vegeta looked upward at the ceiling. "How do you turn these lights off?"

Suspicious, Bulma hesitated before flicking off a switch. Instantly they were surrounded in darkness, except for the dim, green light of the control panel. Vegeta instantly became shrouded in the darkness, his form a ghostly emerald in the blackness.

"V-Vegeta?"

* * *

"Are you scared, woman?" Vegeta asked with a smirk he knew she could hardly see. "And all this time I thought you were like me."

The woman's fearsome expression became aggravated instead. "What are you _doing_, Vegeta?"

He enjoyed being able to see her while she could not see him in return. It gave him an insurmountable amount of control that he hadn't tasted in a long while.

"Stop asking so many questions," he said with another smirk. "You'll find out soon enough."

He sensed that she had finally guessed what he was planning. When she didn't turn the lights back on, or turn away from the touch of his hand on her hip, Vegeta had no intentions of stopping what he had started.

Staring through the darkness Vegeta saw her eyelashes flutter. He could see her soft flesh in the moonlight, soft from motherhood and taut with her recent flurry of exercising. Soft pink lips, a dirty smudge on her temple, and her hair messy from working. He carefully ran his fingers up the length of her arm.

"Vegeta?"

The pressure in his veins was startled by the velvet texture of the woman's voice, calling his name in a way he hadn't heard in a long time. What he wanted to do was take her the same way he had always taken her, swiftly and primitively. It could last hours or minutes and the outcome was always the same. But this time…

Vegeta stepped closer to Bulma until he was so close to her that he could feel her heartbeat and smell the faint citrus perfume she always applied lightly. Slowly, he lowered his head until his lips were resting beneath her ear. His hands began to unbutton her shirt. Her hands reached for his shirt and she pulled it off over his head.

He left hot kisses down her neck, her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, her navel. The woman had discarded her shirt and undergarments gradually. She was matching him pace for pace. Her hands slowly tugged at his pants until they lay in a pile on the floor.

He kissed her hard, staggering along the wall of the ship until the two of them toppled over onto the unchristened bed, their breathing labored. A range of emotions began to overcome the alien prince but he did not know why.

Vegeta gave her a onceover as she lay face-up in the darkness, her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders and bring him down on top of her. His body responded so quickly that he became fearful of what he might do to her. The woman seemed so much more fragile now.

Her teeth marked his neck, his ear, his bottom lip.

"When… when are you c-coming… back?" she breathed.

"I don't know," responded Vegeta, taking the woman's shorts and throwing them aside. Her long legs wrapped around his naked torso and pulled him close to her.

"Are you coming back?"

Such a loaded question and yet she wore a look of intense innocence, as though he might answer that any way he pleased. Vegeta spoke the truth.

"Yes."

He grabbed her in his arms and turned over on his back so that she was on top of him. If he had enough patience he could watch her from that angle for a generous amount of time.

Bulma leaned over, looking satisfied at his answer. She rested her forehead on his, her parted lips touching his seductively. Vegeta felt the hairs on his arm stand up and while he was thoroughly lost in what was happening, he could not help but think of what she had asked him only moments before. He would certainly return. He had no choice.

She was his, after all.

...

Vegeta awoke hours later with the woman's arm hurled haphazardly over his face. He did not need to look at a clock to determine that it was well into the night. Wiping sleep from his eyes, he sat up and got dressed. He wrapped the woman, who was a remarkably heavy sleeper, in the blankets and lifted her into his arms. He looked outside and a pitch-black basement greeted him.

Good. The last thing he needed was the woman's meddling parents finding the two of them in their current state. He left the ship quickly and made it to the stairs that eventually led to the ground floor of Capsule Corp.

"W..was…gonna…."

The woman was mumbling in her sleep but didn't awaken. Vegeta rolled his eyes and began his ascent to her bedroom. Sensing that he was alone, he was in no rush. He nudged the woman's bedroom door open with his toe and once inside, carefully laid her on the messy bed.

Vegeta left her room as quickly as he had entered and found himself in the hallway once again. He stood still, looking around. He was being pulled again.

_What's the matter with you? _

He treaded quietly along the soft carpet that led to the nursery. Muted golden light escaped from the crack in the door. Was it such a good idea to disturb a sleeping infant and risk waking his sleeping mother? Vegeta narrowed his eyes and pushed open the door with a finger.

The new father walked into the nursery and looked over at the crib as it rocked gently back and forth while classical music played. Inside, his hands and feet wriggling under a baby blue blanket, was his son. And he was wide-awake.

"What are you doing up, boy?" Vegeta asked gruffly, folding his arms against his chest as he looked down at Trunks.

The baby was silent but his eyes grew wide as his father approached him.

The two stared at one another for a long time. Finally, Vegeta bent over and did something that he had not done before. He pulled back the blanket and lifted his son out of his cradle. He held him at arms length and squinted hard at the tiny infant.

"Gah, even your eyes are beginning to turn blue."

At the sound of his voice the baby began to gurgle unintelligibly. Vegeta brought him to his chest and with his free arm, took off the ridiculous looking blue hat the woman made him wear constantly.

He would never have guessed the heir to his legacy would have purple hair. Something nagged him at that very moment, but he dismissed it.

Trunks began to whimper and his eyes shut. Vegeta was new to fatherhood and did not understand the simplistic language of babies, but he realized quickly that his son was going to tear his eardrums apart any second.

With an irritated grunt, Vegeta stretched the ugly hat back around Trunks' head. He stopped whimpering.

"She's gotten to you already," he said with a wrinkled nose. "Humph. Well, no matter boy. You'll be Saiyan material soon enough."

Vegeta eyed the boy closely; he smelled like milk and womanly scented powder. His own mother had treated him just as well. If he didn't keep watch, his son would end up as soft as Kakarot's boy. Gohan had consistently shown that he was strong, but he was a fighter of impulse, of emotional unrestraint. For that his true power would remain locked inside of him. His son would be different.

Vegeta gave his son a searching look and then looked forward, his eyes landing on the glowing painting of Vegetasai. He remembered that he would be leaving soon and he pursed his lips and looked downward at his son.

"Keep your mother company for me," he said.

Trunks made a 'cooing' noise but his eyes had closed. Vegeta carefully placed him on his back in his crib. He pulled the blanket to his waist. Then he stepped back, gave his son one more glance, and left the room.

* * *

The next morning Bulma pulled herself out of bed with a feeling of dread. Vegeta was nowhere to be found. She hurriedly dressed and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She had been on her way to the basement to see if Vegeta had gone when she detected the smell of pancakes from the kitchen.

Bulma changed direction and headed into the kitchen. Vegeta sat at the island counter shoveling food into his mouth in such a disgusting manner that she nearly gagged. In front of the stove was her cheerful looking mother in her world famous apron, flipping bacon in a hot pan.

"Good morning Bulma, dear!" cried Mrs. Brief with a great smile. "I've made you some delicious chocolate chip pancakes! Come have a plate!"

"What's with all this food?" asked Bulma, taking a seat next to Vegeta, who had yet to acknowledge her as he inhaled his breakfast.

"I figured since Vegeta's leaving today he wouldn't mind having one last home cooked meal. Isn't that right, darling?"

The Saiyan prince looked up at her and grunted, crumbs falling from his mouth.

"Oh, gross. Do you even chew it first?" Bulma asked, repulsed.

"Eat up dears!" said her mother and she sat a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of her.

Even Bulma couldn't resist her mother's cooking. It was a shame she had yet to inherit any of the woman's cooking skill. She turned to Vegeta, who was gulping a large glass of orange juice.

"Today's the day," she said, trying to push down the anxiety she suddenly felt at the thought of him taking off into deep space. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready, woman," was his answer.

"I'd like to come see you off, Vegeta," said Bulma's mother, "but I'm afraid seeing you leave would make me very sad. You _will_ come back and visit now won't you?"

"_Mother_," Bulma said rolling her eyes. "He's not moving out. He's just going to train for the Androids for a little while."

Her mother's eyes filled with tears instantly. "Oh, how wonderful! I thought you might be leaving us for good! What a good man you are, Vegeta! And thoughtful too! This world is all the better for having you in it!"

Bulma wasn't sure, but it looked like Vegeta was smirking.

Hearing Trunks begin to cry, Bulma left the table. When she had returned to the kitchen, Vegeta had gone. Grabbing a bottle, the younger woman turned to her mother.

"Don't worry, dear. He's just gone down to the basement. He said to let you know."

Bulma popped the bottle in Trunks' eager mouth and quickly made her way down the stairs and into the large room where the shuttle was activated and waiting to depart. Vegeta stood in front of it with his hands on his hips. He looked determined.

"What time is thing taking off?"

Bulma glanced at her watch and then up at the ceiling, which was beginning to fold upon itself, revealing the sunlight overhead.

"In a few minutes, so you'd better get situated in there."

Vegeta nodded, but made no immediate moves.

"Be careful, Vegeta," pleaded Bulma, trying to look as determined as he was. She was afraid but she refused to show it. "I want you back in one piece."

A corner of the Saiyan's mouth rose in a cocky looking grin.

His display of strength did nothing for her nerves. Bulma rushed toward him and kissed him hard on the lips. He was clearly surprised at her motion but he did not stop her.

"Don't be an idiot," she said, pulling away.

He began to climb up the walkway and then stopped, and put out his hands in front of him.

"Give him to me."

Bulma placed the baby in his outstretched hands. Vegeta looked the baby directly in his eyes.

"Remember what I've said to you, boy."

That was that. He handed Trunks back and with a nod in her direction, boarded onto the shuttle. As the doors closed, Bulma waved at him, not entirely sure if he could see her but sure he knew she was still there. The countdown began.

"T-Minus 10 seconds until liftoff."

Something was happening inside of Bulma's chest. She felt a resolve she hadn't felt before. The androids were coming and Vegeta was leaving. Her grip around Trunks tightened.

"BYE, VEGETA!" she yelled. She waved Trunks' tiny arm as steam filled the underbelly of the ship.

Bulma stepped back to a safe distance as her spacecraft began to levitate off of the ground. She pressed her hand against her son's ear and lay his other against her chest as the ship began to power up.

"T-Minus 5, T-Minus 4, T-Minus 3, T-Minus 2…"

Inevitably tears filled her eyes, but she was not sad. She was not afraid. She was not disheartened.

"T-Minus 1, preparing for takeoff."

There was a loud rumble and the ship hovered feet over Bulma's head. A gust of wind blew her hair back. The ceiling had completely opened, a burst of fire shot out of the exhaust. It shot off into the sky and carried Vegeta further and further away until the only thing either Trunks or Bulma could see was a tiny white dot in the sky and then nothing at all.

Her life was going to change dramatically in the upcoming months and possibly for the worse, but she would not show apprehension or fear. Vegeta certainly hadn't. And despite their rocky relationship, he had never lied to her. If he said he was going to be okay, she believed him.

No, Bulma was not sad. She did not know when, but she knew that one day Vegeta would be back. She knew he would be fine, that he could take care of himself the way they had taken care of one another. She permitted herself a small smile and let herself feel something she still couldn't quite say aloud.

But it was there as clear as the blue sky before her.

One day she might even tell him.

Yes, she was going to tell him one day soon.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally, this is complete! I am very happy with what I've turned out for all of you and I can only hope that you found it half as entertaining as I did while writing it. I couldn't have found the motivation to finish without all of you who clicked on the strange title and read this story. Seriously, thank you all so much.

With that out of the way, I hope that you enjoyed the ending. I understand that a lot of B/V 3-Years end with Vegeta having attained Super Saiyan status. I've always liked the idea of leaving a few things up in the air. If you have any questions at all, feel free to PM me! Now I look forward to reading all of your stories since this one has left me needing a bit of a break!

A special thanks to all of you who have reviewed and/or are going to review at some point. Knowing that someone has taken the time out of their busy day to review something that you've written is a really amazing feeling. Thanks again for sticking around through these 3 years with me. It's been a rough, yet awesome journey. We'll have to do this again sometime.

_-Aneriangel_


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